*-, 


Ios 


RUMMYNISCENCES 


RUMMYNISGENCES 


BY 
FREDERICK  P.  KAFKA 

With  Illustrations  by  Walt  Lantz 


THE  CORNHILL  PUBLISHING  CO. 

BOSTON 


Copyright  1921 

by 
The  Cornhill  Publishing  Company 


All  Rights  Reserved 
Second  Printing,  January, 


Dedicated 
TO  MY  FRIENDS 

and  all  the  other  "  regular  fellows"  who  erstwhile 
spread  joviality  and  cheer  throughout  this  now 
arid  land. 


2130674 


RUMMYNISCENCES 

Of  the  days  of  conviviality,  good-fellowship  and 
liquid  cheer,  —  of  the  days  when  warm  friendships 
were  cemented  among  genial  companions,  whose  gam- 
bols banished  care,  brightened  life,  and  made  reminis- 
cence a  delight. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

FOREWORD xi 

ACE  HIGH  ! 3 

Wherein  is  related  how  the  Duke,  after  rusti- 
cating to  recuperate  his  nerves,  started  to  roll 
and  hit  the  high  spots  on  all  six. 

"HANDS  UP!" 23 

A  crime  wave,  a  series  of  hold-ups,  a  sequence 
of  drinks,  and  —  the  denouement ! 

"STUPID"  AND  THE  GOATS 33 

In  which  the  "  Goat"  butts  his  persecutors  and 
sheds  his  horns. 

THE  WORM  THAT  TURNED 49 

Wherein  Clabby  makes  a  suggestion  which  is 
promptly  acted  upon,  much  to  his  subsequent 
amazement  and  disgust. 

A  ROLL  THROUGH  A  NIGHT 55 

The  log  of  a  bibulous  Odyssey — and  what 
befell. 

WESTERN  UNION  No.  2074 77 

The  tale  of  how  a  stormy  night  and  a  Wall 
Street  leak  culminated  in  "the  Widdy 
O'Kane's  mirricle." 

VERY  GOOD,  EDDIE! 91 

In  which  Finkel  makes  a  "little  mistake"  and 
Eddie  acquires  a  fine  hang-over  and  a  new  job. 


x  Contents 

PAGE 

'TwixT  Two  AND  DAWN 103 

Being  the  tale  of  two  belated  prowlers,  a  can  of 
milk  and  a  cluster  of  sandwiches  and  hoboes. 

THE  STOIC  TAKES  THE  COUNT 117 

In  which  philosophy  is  floored  by  a  combina- 
tion of  humidity,  corpulency  and  "general 
cussedness." 

THE  MISOGAMIST. 125 

Wherein  is  chronicled  how  Joe's  studies  in 
juvenile  psychology  resulted  in  a  complete 
transformation  in  his  personal  appearance, 
his  philosophy  and  his  marital  views. 

THE  TALE  OF  THE  PATCH     . 147 

Setting  forth  how  Buck  and  the  Shrimp  took 
their  "  hang-overs  "  out  for  an  airing,  and  how 
Buck  became  possessed  of  the  patch  and  his 
discomfiture  thereat. 

APRIL  SHOWERS  !        155 

Which  is  not  a  meteorological  discourse,  but 
a  recital  of  Dame  Fortune's  fickle  treatment 
of  "The  Revere  Sisters." 


FOREWORD 

January  16th,  1920.  —  Who,  that  ever  loved  good 
cheer,  will  forget  this  date?  —  The  date  that  marked 
the  demise  of  the  jolly  reign  of  King  Alcohol  and  the 
termination  of  his  era  of  good  fellowship! 

On  that  night,  —  the  last  on  which  the  serving  of 
spirituous  beverages  was  permissible  in  the  clubs, 
cafes,  and  all  the  other  haunts  of  congenial  souls,  —  on 
that  night,  sorrowful  millions  celebrated  feverishly 
throughout  the  land,  and  toasted  the  glorious  days 
that,  on  the  stroke  of  midnight,  were  doomed  to  become 
a  memory. 

The  circle  of  regulars  that  attended  this  final  session 
of  the  Sun  Dodgers,  in  the  tap-room  of  one  of  our  metro- 
politan clubs,  sipped  their  high-balls  soberly  and  de- 
bated the  future  solemnly.  Even  Dennis,  —  Dennis 
of  the  stolid  visage  and  the  flat  pedals,  —  carefully 
balancing  his  tray-full  of  exhilarators  and  bracers, 
pussy-footed  about  with  a  funereal  expression  as  he 
officiated  at  the  obsequies  of  his  heretofore  generous 
lord  and  master,  John  Barleycorn. 

"  What's  to  become  of  all  the  old  familiar  types,  — 
the  popular  good-fellow,  the  ubiquitous  man-about- 
town,  the  East  Side's  'regular  guy,'  the  cabaret  hounds, 


xii  Foreword 

the  stage-door  Johnnies,  the  spaghetti  twirlers,  the 
chop  suey  fiends,  and  all  the  other  characters  that  made 
up  the  maelstrom  of  the  Great  White  Way?"  wailed 
the  Shrimp. 

"How's  a  fellow  ever  going  to  get  to  know  another 
fellow  well  enough  to  call  him  by  his  first  name,  without 
liquor?"  queried  Buck. 

"Where'll  the  boss  take  his  stenog.,  and  how  will 
the  married  men  manage  to  get  away  with  it  hereafter?  " 
asked  the  Duke. 

"And  the  married  women,  as  well!"  added  the  Mis- 
ogamist. 

"Who's  going  to  listen  to  anyone's  troubles,  without 
mahogany  and  brass  rail  environment?"  demanded 
Cliff. 

"What'll  become  of  the  poison  ivy  quartets,  the 
whiskey  tenors,  and  the  hop-sodden  bassos?  Who's 
going  to  sing  at  all,  outside  of  the  churches?"  added 
'Stupe'  Crosby. 

"Who'll  coin  new  stories,  or  resurrect  the  old  ones? 
Who'll  bet  or  buy,  frolic  or  fight,  gamble  —  or  gambol, 
or  start  or  finish  anything  whatever?"  growled  Eddie. 

"Oh,  cheer  up,  fellows!  The  old  sun  will  surely 
dissipate  the  clouds  again,"  commented  the  placid 
Misogamist.  "  We'll  have  to  find  new  diversions,  — 
and  we  will.  We're  all  in  the  same  boat  and  with 


Foreword  xiii 

plenty  of  company,  too,  if  that's  any  consolation. 
And  they  certainly  can't  take  this  from  us.  Even 
though  we  never  drank  another  drop,  we'd  still  have 
star  averages  —  three  and  five  star,  mostly. 

We've  all  been  through  the  mill,  too,  and  we've 
lived  —  lived  and  laughed  and  made  merry  as  coming 
generations  never  will.  We've  had  our  fling,  and  now 
for  the  simple  life,  the  old  log  fire  and  the  favorite  old 
briar  or  calabash,  while  you  sip  a  little  of  the  old  Scotch 
you've  stored  away  and  in  re  very  live  over  again  the 
jovial  evenings  and  jolly  adventures,  henceforth,  but 
memories." 

"Reminiscences!"  murmured  the  Duke,  dolefully. 

"  Rummyniscences ! "  amended  the  Shrimp. 

Whereupon  they  delved  into  the  past,  banished 
gloom  and  kept  Dennis  busy  until  well  into  the  dawn  as 
they  recalled  many  a  prank  and  escapade. 

Here,  for  the  delectation  of  others  of  their  ilk,  who 
likewise  have  lived,  and  for  the  edification  of  the  coming 
generation,  which  will  journey  through  life  more 
sedately  and  certainly  more  soberly,  are  transcribed 
some  of  the  'rummyniscences'  related  on  that  memorable 
night.  'Rummyniscences'  —  not  of  roystering  and 
drunken  orgies,  but  rather  tales  that  depict  the  roseate 
conviviality  of  yesterday,  the  spontaneous  and  whole- 
souled  wit  and  humor,  the  generous  impulses  and  the 


xiv  Foreword 

warm  comradeships,  which  engendered  geniality,  senti- 
ment, and  love  of  fellowman,  and  helped  to  banish  the 
dull,  grey  periods. 

May  their  perusal  serve  to  recall  similar  escapades 
and  elicit  an  occasional  reminiscent  smile! 


ACE  HIGH! 

Wherein  is  related  how  the  Duke,  after  rusticating 
to  recuperate  his  nerves,  started  to  roll  and  hit  the  high 
spots  on  all  six. 


Ace  High! 

I. 

nf^HE  Sun-Dodgers  were  in  the  midst  of  a  hilarious 
session.  The  drinks  had  just  been  pinned  on  the 
Shrimp,  who  good-naturedly  submitted  to  the  panning 
that  followed  his  inadvertent  disclosure  of  the  sequel 
to  a  little  episode  of  the  night  before.  Presently  the 
Duke  came  to  his  rescue. 

"The  worst  'bone'  I  ever  pulled,"  he  drawled,  "was 
up  in  the  White  Mountains,  during  — " 

But  let  us  interrupt  him.  Those  of  our  readers  who 
are  not  thoroughly  versed  in  the  slang  of  the  Metropolis, 
may  require  elucidation. 

A  "bone"  then,  in  base-ball  parlance,  signifies  a 
bone-head  play.  You  don't  quite  get  me  yet?  Well 
then,  in  refined  palaver,  a  " bone"  is  a  faux  pas.  Vous 
comprenez,  maintenant,  n'est  ce  pas?  Bien!  Well 
then,  let's  go  —  or  rather,  —  let  us  interrupt  further. 


4  Rummyniscences 

Surely  you  know  the  Duke,  or  at  any  rate,  his  type. 
Well-groomed,  faultlessly  tailored,  debonnair,  and  full 
of  assurance.  Not  precisely  good-looking,  but  invari- 
ably looks  good.  Twinkling  eyes,  a  humorous  mouth, 
and  a  personality  oozing  conviviality  and  good-nature. 
Wonderful  raconteur  and  entertainer.  Bank-roll,  — 
but  no  bank  account.  Long  on  wit  and  wits.  You 
know  him!  Of  course!  Every  one  does. 

And  now  that  you  and  the  Duke  are  on  speaking 
terms,  we'll  permit  him  to  continue  his  tale. 

"The  worst  'bone'  I  ever  pulled,"  proceeded  the 
Duke,  "  was  up  in  the  White  Mountains,  during  the  fall 
that  I  was  rusticating  there,  recuperating  from  a  regular 
series  of  orgies. 

Swell  hotel,  but  absolutely  dead.  Only  a  sprinkling 
of  guests.  Fine  collection  of  proper  and  solemn  an- 
tiques of  both  sexes,  who  lolled  about  in  rockers  and 
steamer  rugs,  and  hit  the  quilts  by  nine.  Nothing 
stirring  but  the  leaves.  Nothing  wild  but  the  flowers. 
Right  you  are,  Shrimp,  you  said  it!  I  was  a  square  peg 
in  a  round  hole,  sure  enough,  but  it  was  just  what  my 
frazzled  nerves  needed. 

I  made  no  acquaintances.  It  wasn't  being  done. 
So  I  just  moped  around  and  'cured'  by  myself,  like  the 
rest,  till  one  evening  the  old  lady  who  sat  on  my  left 
at  dinner,  tripped  as  she  got  up  from  the  table,  and 


Ace  High!  5 

spilled  herself,  her  decorum,  and  my  coffee,  all  plumb 
into  my  lap. 

Great  embarrassment  and  profuse  apologies  on  her 
part.  Chesterfieldian  deprecation  on  mine.  And  thus 
began  our  acquaintance. 

Fine,  quaint  old  lady.  Plainly  but  primly  attired 
in  black  silk.  Nice  gray  hair,  kindly  eyes.  I  lost  a 
mother  like  that  many  years  ago,  and  it  afforded  me 
pleasure  to  be  gallant  to  the  dear  old  soul,  and  to 
brighten  her  lonesome  sojourn  amid  the  depressing 
atmosphere  of  the  now  practically  forsaken  hotel. 

So  I  lent  her  my  arm  as  we  promenaded  the  spa- 
cious verandahs,  and  tucked  her  snugly  into  her  rugs  and 
shawls  in  her  favorite  arm-chair,  during  the  rest  periods, 
the  while  we  decorously  discussed  Ibsen,  Maeterlinck, 
Christian  Science,  Suffrage  and  kindred  exciting  themes. 

And  as  we  gradually  exhausted  conventional  topics 
and  indulged  in  a  little  harmless  scandal-mongering,  the 
dear  old  lady  proved  quite  entertaining  and  related  some 
really  droll  anecdotes,  replete  with  quaint,  refined  humor. 

She  laughed  heartily,  too,  at  the  tales  I  reeled  off 
to  her,  especially  those  I  spun  at  my  own  expense. 

In  short,  we  were  getting  on  famously,  and  en- 
joyed ourselves,  much  to  the  obvious  envy  of  the  other 
guests,  who  surveyed  us  crabbedly  and  with  supercilious 
aloofness. 


6  Rummyniscences 

One  evening  as  the  twilight  was  falling  and  the  air 
grew  chill  I  fell  to  coughing  slightly,  whereat  my  com- 
panion solicitously  insisted  that  I  wear  my  heavy  coat 
and  otherwise  proceeded  to  mother  me. 

I  politely  turned  down  her  suggestions  of  hot  flan- 
nels and  mustard  plasters. 

"  I'll  kill  that  little  cough  in  a  jiffy,"  I  replied.  "  I'll 
prescribe  myself  a  remedy  that  is  better  adapted  to  the 
cravings  of  my  disreputable  constitution  and  soul. 
Dinner  won't  be  ready  for  half  an  hour,  and  if  you'll 
pardon  me  till  then,  I'll  go  to  my  room  and  mix  myself 
a  brace  of  stiff  cocktails.  These,  and  a  hot  rum  toddy 
before  going  to  bed,  and  I'll  feel  'one  hundred  percent' 
in  the  morning." 

Her  eyes  twinkled  and  her  lips  curled  slightly  under 
a  suppressed  smile. 

"I've  been  coughing  a  bit  myself,"  she  vouchsafed. 

"You  don't  say  so!"  I  exclaimed.  "Better  let  me 
prescribe  for  your  cold,  too.  I'll  be  back  in  two  shakes 
of  a —  mixer." 

With  that,  I  dashed  up-stairs  to  my  room,  mixed  a 
tasty  Bronx  which  I  poured  into  my  thermos-bottle  and 
returned  to  the  porch. 

"I've  brought  the  medicine,"  I  announced  solemnly. 

"  Thank  you,  doctor,"  she  answered  decorously. 

Finally  came  the  eve  of  our  parting. 


Ace  High!  7 

"I  leave  early  tomorrow  morning,"  she  informed  me. 
"A  letter  I  received  to-day,  makes  it  necessary  for  me 
to  return  home  at  once,  so  I'll  bid  you  Good-bye  now 
and  express  to  you  my  sincere  thanks  and  appreciation 
of  your  many  courtesies." 

"Nothing  doing,"  I  interrupted.  "You  can't  leave 
me  flat  like  that.  I'll  see  you  off  to  the  station  in  the 
morning." 

"Oh,  that's  very  kind  of  you,  but  really  you  can't!" 
she  protested.  "  I'm  leaving  on  the  seven-thirty,  and  will 
have  to  breakfast  before  seven.  You've  been  altogether 
too  kind  as  it  is,  and  — " 

"Well,  I'm  going  to  be  on  deck,"  I  insisted. 
"Many's  the  morning  I've  arisen  before  dawn  to  go 
fishing  or  shooting,  or  some  such  stunt,  and  I'm  not 
going  to  let  a  few  extra  winks  cheat  me  out  of  properly 
seeing  off  my  only  friend  in  these  dreary  wilds!" 

I  made  good  in  the  morning,  too,  and  was  on  hand 
bright  and  early.  Her  eyes  fairly  shone  and  her  appre- 
ciation and  gratitude  were  well  worth  hours  of  lazy 
slumber.  Presently  the  stage  pulled  up  and  we  were 
off  for  the  station. 

"You've  been  extremely  kind,  Mr.  Barlow,  and 
have  made  very  delightful  and  enjoyable  a  stay  that 
would  otherwise  have  been  most  monotonous.  I  appre- 
ciate your  kindness  and  courtesy  much  more  than  I  can 


8  Rummyniscences 

say,"  said  my  companion,  with  much  more  of  the  same, 
all  of  which  I,  of  course,  deprecated. 

"I'll  venture  to  ask  you  a  little  final  favor,"  she 
concluded.  "  I  should  regret  to  have  our  acquaintance 
terminate  here.  Will  you,  after  your  return  to  New 
York,  afford  me  the  pleasure  of  your  society  at  dinner 
some  evening?" 

"I'd  be  delighted,"  I  replied  heartily,  and  complied 
with  her  request  for  my  address  and  telephone  number. 

II. 

Months  rolled  by.  I  was  back  in  the  big  burg,  hit- 
ting the  high  spots  again,  when  one  evening  I  was 
called  to  the  'phone  in  my  bachelor  apartment. 

"Hello!"  answered  I.  "Hello,  Mr.  Barlow,"  came 
the  response.  "So  glad  to  hear  your  voice  again!" 
It  was  my  acquaintance  of  the  White  Mountains,  Mrs. 
— well,  Mrs.  Hart.  Her  real  name  doesn't  matter. 

"I  'phoned  to  remind  you  of  your  promise  to  dine 
with  me.  Does  it  still  hold  good?"  she  continued. 

I  had  many  engagements  on  my  slate,  but  a  gentle- 
man's word  is  his  bond.  (Oh,  well,  have  it  your  way, 
Shrimp !  I  wont  stop  to  argue  the  point.)  Well,  to  get 
back  to  my  'phone  call. 

"Most  certainly,"  I  replied.  "I'd  be  delighted. 
Name  the  evening." 


Ace  High!  9 

" Oh,  thank  you !  Could  you  come  tomorrow  night? 
I'm  particularly  anxious  to  have  you  tomorrow,  if  you 
can  possibly  come."  Which  meant  that  I'd  have  to 
pass  up  a  perfectly  easy  poker  game,  but  it  was  evident 
that  the  old  lady's  heart  was  set  on  it,  and  the  game 
was  scratched  then  and  there. 

"Surely,"  I  replied,  "I'll  be  on  deck  tomorrow 
night.  What  time?" 

I  could  hear  her  chuckle.  "Why,  you  don't  even 
know  where  I  live !  And  when  I  tell  you,  you  wont  be 
so  ready  to  come." 

Visions  of  the  Bronx,  Hoboken  and  far-off  Canarsie 
flitted  through  my  mind,  but  I  was  game. 

"I'll  show  up  all  right!  Where  do  you  live?"  I 
inquired. 

"South  Bethlehem,  Pa.,"  said  she,  laughing  audibly. 
"I'm  'phoning  you  from  there.  And  now,  I  suppose 
I'll  have  to  let  you  beg  off  and  be  horribly  dis- 
appointed." 

Well,  that  was  a  bit  rough.  I  was  somewhat 
groggy,  but  still  game.  I  didn't  beg  off.  On  the  con- 
trary. 

"You're  a  regular  dear,"  she  concluded,  "and,  oh, 
I  quite  forgot.  Won't  you  bring  your  evening 
clothes?  Good-bye!  I'll  be  delighted  to  see  you 
again." 


10  Rummyniscences 

III. 

"  Well,  next  morning  I  started  for  Jersey  City  to  take 
the  Black  Diamond  Express  for  South  Bethlehem, 
about  as  enthusiastic  as  a  sophomore  on  his  way  to 
chapel. 

At  the  train  gate,  a  colored  functionary  in  livery, 
scrutinized  the  passengers  closely. 

"Are  you  Mr.  Barlow,  Suh?"  he  inquired,  as  I 
passed  through.  "This  way,  Suh!"  and  relieving  me 
of  my  bag,  he  led  me,  while  I  followed  somewhat 
dazed,  aboard  a  luxurious  private  car.  Not  a  soul  in 
it,  but  I  and  my  guide,  who  now,  all  grins  and  smirks, 
became  my  zealous  attendant.  He  divested  me  of  my 
coat  and  hat,  ensconced  me  in  a  comfortable  arm  chair, 
placed  a  small  mahogany  table  alongside,  deposited 
thereon  a  bottle  of  Scotch  and  another  of  Rye,  a  high- 
ball glass,  some  ice,  and  a  bottle  of  White  Rock. 

Then  he  departed  and  returned  with  a  box  of 
choice  perfectos,  which  he  likewise  deposited  before 
me,  to  all  of  which  I  submitted  quite  passively.  I  can't 
be  riled  in  that  way. 

"Would  you  like  a  magazine  or  the  morning  paper, 
suh?  Or  would  you  prefer  a  book  from  the  library?" 
he  inquired. 

"Explain,  you  ebony-hued  minion  of  luxury!" 
I  commanded.  "Explain,  before  you  proceed  with 


Ace  High!  11 

your  nefarious  temptations!  Why  am  I  thus  Shang- 
haied, and  confined  in  solitary  grandeur?" 

"Mrs.  Hart's  orders,  suh!  This  is  her  private  car. 
I'm  to  look  after  you,  suh!  Anything  else,  suh?  Jess 
you  push  dat  button,  if  you  wants  Henry,  suh  —  That's 
me!"  and  he  departed  for  the  reading  matter,  grinning 
most  affably. 

The  train  pulled  out.  I  lit  a  cigar,  sipped  some 
Scotch,  and  ruminated.  I've  received  many  a  jolt  in 
my  peregrinations  through  this  topsy-turvy  world, 
but  tliis  was  a  knock-out.  I  couldn't  hook  up  my 
quaint  motherly  old  acquaintance  of  the  White  Moun- 
tains with  all  this  lavishness. 

"Henry,"  I  exploded,  "who  in  the  name  of  the 
Saints  or  the  devil  is  Mrs.  Hart,  anyway?" 

"Lawd,  suh!"  replied  Henry,  aghast,  "Mrs.  Hart, 
suh?  Why,  Mrs.  Hart  she  done  own  this  road,  or  at 
least  de  big  slice  what  Mr.  Hart  left  her  when  he  died. 
She's  de  richest  and  bestest  old  lady  in  Pennsylvany, 
suh!  Surely,  you  knows  her,  suh!  She  done  describe 
you  puffeckly!  'Watch  out  foh  a  thin  gen'leman  with 
funny  eyes,  not  much  hair,  a  reddish  nose  and  crooked 
legs,  and  take  good  care  of  Mr.  Barlow,  Henry,'  she 
said.  I  spotted  you  at  once,  suh!  Surely,  you  know 
Mrs.  Hart,  suh!" 

"Oh,    yes,    quite    well,    but — well,    never    mind. 


12  Rummy  niscences 

That's  all,  Henry,"  I  replied  and  Henry  ambled  away 
while  I  proceeded  to  indulge  in  some  more  ruminating. 

Some  twenty  miles  of  landscape  reeled  by  as  I 
sipped  my  Scotch  reflectively,  but  this  solitary  luxury 
wasn't  exactly  my  speed. 

After  the  third  high-ball,  I  arose,  left  the  car  and 
wandered  through  the  Plebeian  Pullmans,  seeking  di- 
version. 

And  whom  should  I  spot  in  one  of  them  but  Windy 
Tom  Tupper  and  that  other  big  noise,  Sol.  Bamberg. 
A  made-to-order  opportunity  to  boost  my  stock  and 
secure  some  free  advertising,  so  I  greeted  them  and  pres- 
ently invited  them  into  my  car. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  this  one?  "  demanded  Tom. 

"More  privacy  in  mine,"  I  replied. 

"But  we  paid  for  these  seats  and  should  use  them," 
remonstrated  Sol. 

However,  I  persisted,  and  inveigled  them  into  my 
car,  whereupon  Henry  immediately  got  busy  and  plied 
them  with  liquor  and  cigars,  as  they  sat  speechless  and 
open-mouthed.  I  sure  knocked  them  dead. 

"  Well,  I'll  be  dashed ! "  gasped  Tom,  recovering  the 
use  of  his  tongue.  "  Whose  layout  is  this,  anyhow?  "  — 
addressing  himself  to  Henry. 

"Mr.  Barlow's  car,  suh!"  replied  that  discreet  and 
expert  tip-extractor.  "Shall  I  pour  you  some  more 


Ace  High!  13 

Scotch,  suh?  Does  you  gen'lemen  prefer  some  other 
brand  of  cigars?  This  is  Mr.  Barlow's  private  brand!" 
Say,  boys,  I  could  have  embraced  that  dusky  son  of 
Ham  then  and  there. 

"  Do  you  always  travel  like  this,  Barlow  —  er,  Mr. 
Barlow?"  gasped  Sol.,  thoroughly  awed  and  "mister- 
ing" me  for  the  first  time. 

"Generally,"  I  answered,  "unless  the  distance  is 
short.  The  multiplicity  and  importance  of  my  inter- 
ests require  much  deliberation  and  privacy,  except  when 
I  permit  myself  to  play  a  little,  with  good  fellows,  like 
yourselves." 

Well,  I  kept  it  up,  by  the  grace  of  God  and  Henry, 
till  they  reached  their  destination  and  got  off,  properly 
and  thoroughly  impressed,  primed  to  circulate  the  most 
glowing  accounts  of  my  consequence  and  lavishness, 
and  I  chuckled  over  their  gullibility  until  we  pulled 
into  South  Bethlehem. 

IV. 

Here  Henry  was  relieved  by  a  colleague,  who  led  me 
to  a  waiting  limousine,  bundled  me  inside  with  my  grip, 
and  climbed  up  alongside  the  chauffeur. 

We  rolled  along  for  quite  a  distance,  out  to  what  was 
evidently  the  exclusive  residential  section,  and  eventu- 
ally pulled  up  under  the  portico  of  a  fine  old  colonial 
mansion. 


14  Rummy  niscences 

A  consequential  butler  divested  me  of  my  coat  and 
deferentially  led  me  into  the  reception  room,  where  I 
let  myself  into  an  arm  chair  and  waited,  —  somewhat 
uncomfortably,  I  confess. 

Presently  Mrs.  Hart  entered,  and  all  restraint  and 
embarrassment  promptly  disappeared.  She  was  the 
same  kind,  motherly  old  soul  I  had  met  at  the  "antique" 
resort  in  the  Mountains.  Her  warm  and  sincere  greet- 
ing put  me  at  ease  at  once. 

"A  fine  surprise  to  spring  on  an  unsuspecting  victim 
and  friend!"  I  chided,  after  our  preliminary  greetings 
and  a  nice  little  chat. 

"Nothing  at  all  compared  to  the  many  courtesies 
you  showed  to  a  solitary  old  lady,  who  will  never  be 
able  to  fully  repay  them,"  she  replied,  smiling  warmly, 
"  Besides,  I  am  celebrating  my  seventieth  birthday  to- 
day, with  a  little  dinner  party  to  which  I  have  invited 
only  close  relatives  and  very  dear  friends,  and  I  wanted 
you  to  make  my  little  party  complete." 

Let  me  epitomize  what  followed.  After  an  hour's 
chat  I  was  ushered  up  to  the  room  assigned  to  me, 
Found  my  grip  had  been  unpacked,  my  dress  clothes 
pressed  and  laid  out  on  the  bed. 

I  dolled  up  and  came  down.  Found  some  guests 
had  already  arrived.  Flock  of  limousines  outside. 
Others  kept  rolling  up  and  discharging  their  occupants. 


Ace  High!  15 

My  hostess  introduced  me.  Senator  Blank,  Con- 
gressman So-and-So,  General  This  or  That,  steel  mag- 
nates, coal  barons,  railroad  potentates,  —  all  big 
leaguers,  and  their  ladies  —  and  plain  me. 

Eventually  we  filed  in  to  dinner,  or  rather —  the 
banquet;  and  then,  to  my  further  surprise,  I  found 
myself  seated  on  Mrs.  Hart's  right,  near  the  head  of  the 
table. 

Well,  I  won't  bore  you  with  a  description  of  the 
banquet.  The  old  lady  was  ceremoniously  congratu- 
lated, and  duly  toasted  and  fussed  over.  But  with  all 
this  she  managed  to  devote  much  time  to  me,  and  en- 
hanced my  standing  among  all  these  notables  by  ac- 
claiming me  as  a  most  highly  esteemed  friend. 

Finally  the  ladies  withdrew,  and  the  party  began 
to  really  liquor  and  smoke  up.  As  the  bubbles  func- 
tioned and  the  alcohol  began  to  dissolve  their  veneer 
and  reserve,  those  big  bugs  turned  out  to  be  regular 
human  beings,  and  believe  me,  boys,  they  could  step 
some,  too! 

I  began  to  hit  on  all  six  myself,  and  convulsed  that 
bunch  with  my  best  stories.  Whether  I  rose  to  their 
level  or  they  descended  to  mine,  the  fact  remains  that 
those  moguls  were  "old-topping"  me  and  clinking  their 
glasses  with  mine,  and  the  more  we  clinked  the  more  we 
all  blinked,  and  skidded. 


16  Rummy  niscences 

Those  who  had  brought  their  ladies  had  by  this  time 
departed  with  them  or  sent  them  home. 

At  one  stage  I  was  doing  some  close  harmony,  off 
in  a  corner,  with  a  congressman  and  two  multi-million- 
aires, our  arms  about  each  other's  shoulders,  killing 
"The  old  oaken  bucket  that  hung  in  the  well,"  "The 
old  family  tooth-brush  that  hung  o'er  the  sink,"  "Old 
Dutch,"  "Paddy  Duffy's  Cart"  and  —  well,  all  of  them 
—  the  very  same  ones  we  massacre  when  we're  blowing 
out  the  lights.  By  that  time  I  was  doing  the  Sousa 
act,  leading  the  choir,  and  being  addressed  as  "Chief" 
by  the  few  who  didn't  feel  they  knew  me  intimately 
enough  to  call  me  Bob. 

Well,  curtains !  Modesty,  and  regard  for  the  promi- 
nence of  my  fellow  revellers,  forbid  further  details. 

In  the  morning  I  breakfasted  with  my  hostess,  feel- 
ing none  too  chipper.  The  coffee,  and  later  on,  a  drive 
with  her  through  the  bracing  ozone,  helped  me  a  lot, 
though. 

She  was  a  brick,  a  regular  thoroughbred.  I  was  a 
little  off  my  feed  and  felt  a  bit  guilty,  and  I  guess  she 
knew  all  about  that,  for  she  remarked: 

"  I'm  so  glad  you  enjoyed  my  dinner  party.  Judg- 
ing from  the  casualties  as  reported  to  me  by  Jennings, 
my  butler,  it  was  a  success.  The  singing  was  quite 
wonderful.  I  lay  in  bed  enjoying  it  till  I  fell  into  a 


Ace  High!  17 

heavy  sleep,  for  I  was  quite  exhausted.  You  are  gifted 
with  quite  a  tenor  voice,  Mr.  Barlow,  and  really,  I  had 
no  idea  my  friends  could  sing  so  —  well,  with  such 
fullness  of  spirit.  I'm  so  glad  you  came !  I  just  knew 
you  would  be  the  life  of  the  party !  I  couldn't  hear  the 
stories,"  she  added,  "although  I  heard  the  peals  of 
laughter  that  greeted  them.  They  must  have  been 
very  amusing.  Won't  you  tell  me  some  of  them?" 

And  her  eyes  twinkled  as  I  hastily  averred  my  inabil- 
ity to  recall  them. 

The  arrival  of  the  minister  saved  me  from  further 
embarrassment.  He  was  her  son-in-law  and  the  shep- 
herd of  the  most  exclusive  and  pretentious  church  in 
the  town.  He  had  been  seated  opposite  me  at  dinner 
the  night  before  and  had  studied  me  persistently  and 
solemnly,  somewhat  to  my  discomfort.  Fortunately 
he  had  withdrawn  with  the  ladies. 

My  hostess  attended  to  some  household  matters, 
leaving  me  to  the  Dominie.  In  the  course  of  our  con- 
versation, he  presently  remarked: 

"  Mrs.  Hart  is  certainly  quite  infatuated  with  you, 
Mr.  Barlow.  I  have  never  known  her  to  exhibit  such 
an  interest  in  anyone.  She  is  really  very  reserved.  I 
am  her  relative  by  marriage,  —  her  daughter's  husband, 
you  know,  and  yet,  she  has  never  encouraged  intimacy 
on  my  part.  I  have  failed  utterly  to  interest  her  in  my 


18  Rummyniscences 

work  and  my  church,  or  in  securing  any  contribution 
whatever  from  her.  As  I  understand  it,  your  acquain- 
tance with  her  is  quite  recent  and  came  about  quite 
casually,  and  yet,  she  evidently  esteems  you  more  than 
she  does  her  immediate  relatives  and  friends  of  long 
standing.  I  understand  she  has  placed  her  private  car 
at  your  disposal.  I  have  never  even  entered  it.  I 
cannot  comprehend  it!" 

Well,  I  couldn't  enlighten  him  either,  and  didn't 
attempt  to. 

The  Duke  paused  to  re-light  his  cigar,  puffed  at  it 
meditatively,  and  continued: 

"  But  I'd  better  wind  up  my  tale !  That  same  after- 
noon I  bade  Mrs.  Hart  adieu,  and  journeyed  back  to 
New  York,  in  the  same  private  car,  with  Henry,  and  all 
the  liquid  and  other  comforts  he  could  provide. 

As  I  stepped  off  the  luxurious  car  and  into  the  foul 
smelling  and  tobacco  reeking  men's  cabin  of  the  ferry 
boat,  'mid  a  down-pouring,  dampening  and  depressing 
rain,  I  figuratively  came  to  earth  again,  on  the  broad 
expanse  of  the  Hudson.  'Back  to  the  mine!'  I 
soliloquized,  —  but  fellows,  they  can't  take  one  thing 
from  me  —  for  two  days,  I  lived  —  Ace  high  .  .  ! " 

The  Duke  drained  his  glass  and  fell  back  into  his 
chair,  his  eyes  narrowed  in  retrospection. 

Presently  he  delved  into  his  breast  pocket,  produced 


Ace  High!  19 

his  wallet,  and  extracted  therefrom  a  well-worn  news- 
paper clipping. 

"A  month  or  two  after  this  episode,"  he  drawled, 
"I  happened  to  lamp  this  article  in  a  newspaper.  I'll 
just  read  you  the  head-lines : 

PENNSYLVANIA  SOCIAL 
CIRCLES  SHOCKED 


Court  appoints  trustee  to  administer 

affairs  of  wealthy  and  philanthropic 

widow. 


Legally   declared  incompetent  and 
mentally  deranged. 


w-un 


"HANDS  UP!" 

t* 

A  crime  wave,  a  series  of  hold-ups,  a  sequence  of 
drinks,  and  —  the  denouement ! 


4 'Hands  Up!" 

I. 

T3UD  Barrows  tipped  the  scales  around  two  hun- 
^"^  dred  —  six  feet,  one  inch,  of  solid  bone  and 
muscle.  Likewise  he  drank,  —  hard  liquor,  —  all  the 
fifty-seven  varieties  and  concoctions  thereof,  and  he  met 
all  comers,  —  his  friends,  their  friends,  anybody's 
friends,  —  and  eventually,  on  his  way  homeward,  the 
weary-eyed  wops  going  to  work  at  day-break. 

All  of  which  is  to  say  that  he  was  a  "good  fellow," 
"a  regular  guy"  and  a  "sticker."  Also  it  was  his  con- 
firmed habit,  whether  plumb  sober  or  genteely  skished, 
—  for  Bud  averred  that  no  gentleman  ever  got  really 
drunk,  —  not  so  long  as  he  refrained  from  whispering 
to  side-walks,  —  it  was  his  confirmed  habit  upon 
ascending  the  brown-stone  steps  of  the  paternal  dom- 
icile, to  noiselessly  open  and  carefully  lock  the  front 
door  behind  him  and  then,  after  removing  his  shoes  in 

the  hall- way,  to  pussyfoot  into  the  parlor  and  to  equally 

23 


24  Rummyniscences 

carefully  secure  and  lock  the  window-catches  against 
possible  burglarous  intrusion,  —  this  at  the  behest  of 
his  most  estimable  but  extremely  nervous  mater. 

Be  it  also  set  down  for  your  edification  that  Bud 

resided  on  a  very  steep  street,  on  Washington  Heights* 

—  a  street  paved,  because  of  its  steep  grade,  with  rough 

stone  blocks  instead  of  the  customary  smooth  asphalt. 

The  relevancy  of  all  of  which  seemingly  incongruous 
statements  may  presently  become  more  apparent. 

II. 

It  is  not  restful  or  soothing  to  shattered  nerves,  to 
live  on  a  steep  street  paved  with  stone  blocks,  be  the 
nerves  a  mere  fashionable  ailment,  as  in  the  case  of  his 
mother,  or  real  "  Honest-to-God "  jumpy  nerves  of  the 
"  morning-after  "  variety. 

The  heavily-laden  motor  trucks,  rumbling  down  or 
laboring  up  such  a  street,  shake  the  houses  to  their  very 
foundations  and  cause  them  to  quiver  from  cellar  to 
roof.  Everything  that  is  not  riveted  down  seems  to  do 
a  shimmy,  —  the  table-ware,  the  light  ornaments  on 
the  mantle,  and  the  contents  of  the  side-board  as  well. 

The  water  in  the  glasses,  the  soup  in  the  tureen,  — 
the  coffee,  and  even  the  mustard  and  catsup,  all  quiver 
and  quake  in  trepidation.  But  the  trucks  roll  by,  the 
windows  cease  rattling  and  the  houses  still  stand,  ap- 


"Hands  Up!"  25 

patently  —  apparently,  mark  ye  —  uninjured,  and 
mater  and  the  whole  blooming  family  look  relieved,  the 
nerves  cease  to  flutter  and  the  meal  proceeds. 

III. 

But  to  return  to  Bud.  On  this  particular  night 
things  had  been  very  hilarious  at  the  club,  until  old 
Bramwell  was  brought  in  from  a  taxi,  staggering  and 
supported  by  a  policeman,  —  a  big  gash  on  his  forehead, 
and  his  collar  and  dress-shirt  smeared  with  blood.  He 
had  been  blackjacked  and  robbed  by  thugs  in  a  side- 
street  on  his  way  to  the  club  after  the  opera.  Another 
member  had  been  similarly  assaulted  and  robbed  only 
a  few  days  previously.  The  papers  were  full  of  accounts 
of  hold-ups  and  robberies.  A  veritable  crime-wave  had 
seized  the  metropolis  and  the  police  seemed  power- 
less. 

Bramwell's  plight  sobered  his  club-mates.  They 
sat  around  gloomily  and  recalled  a  long  series  of  similar 
crimes.  It  got  on  Bud's  nerves  presently.  We  have 
already  informed  you  that  big  and  strong  as  he  was,  he 
had  "nerves"  —  susceptible  nerves. 

He  was  sorry  for  old  "Brammy,"  of  course,  but  he 
couldn't  see  much  sense  in  sitting  around  glum  and 
gloomy  and  listening  to  blood-curdling,  creepy  recitals 
that  gave  one  the  "Willies." 


26  Rummyniscences 

It  didn't  seem  to  mix  with  the  liquor  somehow,  —  in 
fact  the  drinks  began  to  come  slowly,  —  too  slowly  for 
Bud.  He  found  himself  ordering  two  rounds  in  suc- 
cession, while  the  others  were  listening  wide-eyed  and 
aghast  —  so  he  left. 

He  drifted  around  to  Clabby's,  but  found  no  one 
there  whom  he  knew.  As  he  sipped  a  high-ball,  Clabby 
sociably  engaged  him  in  conversation  and  presently, 
having  exhausted  the  day's  sporting  topics,  Clabby  too 
began  to  comment  on  the  numerous  hold-ups  that 
seemed  to  infest  the  community.  Bud  downed  his 
high-ball,  glared  irately  at  well-meaning,  bewildered 
Clabby  and  left  abruptly. 

In  Wallick's  he  picked  up  "Dink"  Van  Loan,  and 
they  licked  up  a  couple  of  more  high-balls  and  proceeded 
down  the  line.  He  didn't  care  much  for  Dink,  but  at 
least  Dink's  conversation,  while  shallow  and  boresome, 
was  not  centered  on  hold-ups.  He  didn't  mention 
crime  but  prated  volubly  about  his  feminine  con- 
quests. 

Bud  stuck  with  him  till  early  morn,  drinking  almost 
feverishly.  He  was  sore  on  himself. 

Finally,  he  hailed  a  taxi  and  after  dropping  Dink  at 
his  house,  he  proceeded  to  roll  home,  much  the  worse 
for  all  the  liquor  he  had  imbibed,  —  in  fact  his  eyes 
didn't  seem  to  focus,  and  he  began  to  do  mental  sums 


"Hands  Up!"  27 

in  simple  arithmetic,  —  a  habit  of  his,  to  maintain  his 
grip  on  his  senses,  when  he  felt  himself  skidding.  And 
then  he  dozed  off,  only  to  be  awakened  by  the  squeaking 
of  brakes,  the  sudden  stopping  of  his  taxi  —  and  re- 
volver shots  — ! 

A  policeman  pulled  open  the  door  of  his  taxi  and 
piled  in  without  ceremony.  Another  clambored  along- 
side the  chauffeur.  The  taxi  whirled  up  Broadway  at 
breakneck  speed,  slewed  around  into  a  side-street,  nar- 
rowly missing  a  milk-wagon,  then  tore  up  Riverside 
Drive. 

"What-the-h— 1!"  ejaculated  Bud. 

"Sit  still!"  commanded  the  officer.  "Hold-up! 
Gun-men!  Making  a  get-away  in  that  big  touring-car 
ahead!  Sorry  to  inconvenience  you,  but  this  taxi 
just  rolled  along  in  time.  D — n  'em!  They're  pulling 
away  from  us ! "  And  just  then  the  officer  in  front  lev- 
elled his  gun  at  the  fleet  touring-car  and  pumped  several 
shots  at  the  rear  tires.  But  they  got  away  and  the 
officers  presently  released  Bud's  taxi,  cursing  its  lack  of 
speed. 

Bud  dismissed  it  at  his  street  and  slipped  into  the 
corner  cafe  through  the  side-door.  He  seated  himself 
at  a  table  in  the  rear-room,  downed  a  big  hooker  of 
whiskey  and  ordered  another.  He  needed  them.  His 
nerves  were  shot. 


28  Rummy  niscences 

IV. 

Finally,  he  staggered  home,  up  the  front  steps,  un- 
locked the  door  and  entered  none  too  steadily.  No 
need  of  his  customary  stealth  and  avoidance  of  all 
noises.  The  family  was  out  of  town. 

He  entered  the  parlor,  swaying  unsteadily,  to  secure 
the  windows,  his  invariable  custom,  as  we  have  already 
set  forth.  A  small  rug  slid  on  the  polished  floor  under 
his  uncertain  step.  His  legs  shot  from  under  him  and 
clutching  wildly  at  the  darkness,  he  fell  heavily  and 
measured  his  length  on  the  floor.  As  he  scrambled 
clumsily  to  his  feet,  there  was  a  loud  report  —  he 
received  a  violent,  stunning  blow  on  his  head  and  sank 
to  his  knees  —  petrified.  Then  —  silence.  .  .  .  His 
brain  reeled.  For  some  seconds  he  remained  crouched 
in  terrified  expectancy.  Gradually  his  mind  cleared. 
Burglars !  Desperate  murderous  assassins !  The  dark- 
ness and  suspense  were  maddening.  Why  didn't  they 
finish  him?  Or  did  they  perhaps  believe  that  they  had 
done  so  ...  and  fled! 

He  edged  over  to  the  wall  and  pressed  the  button  of 
the  electric  switch.  No  lights!  They  had  cut  the 
wires,  he  divined.  Thorough  desperate  marauders. 
Something  dropped  onto  the  floor.  Ha!  They  were 
still  in  the  room!  Terrified  and  in  desperation,  he 
bolted  through  the  darkness  and  out  of  the  room,  down 


"Hands  Up!"  29 

the  hall,  and  into  the  basement  —  he  was  sure  he  was 
being  pursued  .  .  . 

Feverishly  he  unlocked  the  basement  door,  raised 
the  latch  of  the  area-gate  and  fled  out  into  the  street. 
He  sped  towards  Broadway  shouting  "Police!"  as  he 
ran. 

Some  late  prowlers  took  up  the  cry  and  the  police 
presently  came  on  the  run  —  two  of  them.  They 
rushed  back  with  him  to  the  house  and  up  the  front 
steps.  He  unlocked  the  door  and  they  entered  cau- 
tiously with  drawn  revolvers  in  hand,  —  Bud  bringing 
up  the  rear  —  his  nerves  palpitating  like  trip- 
hammers. 

Silence  reigned  supreme.  One  of  the  officers  pulled 
out  a  pocket  search-light  and  flashed  it  around  the  room 
.  .  .  amazed,  stupefied  by  the  spectacle  it  revealed, 
they  stood  rooted  in  their  tracks.  A  film  of  white  dust 
covered  the  mantle,  the  bric-a-brac,  the  rugs  —  every- 
thing. Chunks  of  plaster  littered  the  floor.  An  irreg- 
ular, jagged  aperture  in  the  ceiling  and  the  grinning 
rows  of  bared  wood-lath  behind  it,  gaped  at  them  fan- 
tastically. A  dangling,  torn  wire  accounted  for  the 
electric-light  switch's  failure  to  function. 

The  officer  nudged  his  fellow,  pointed  his  extended 
finger  to  the  region  of  his  own  brain  or  to  what  served 
in  lieu  thereof,  rotated  his  finger  slowly  and  signifi- 


30  Rummy  niscences 

cantly,  and  glaring  at  Bud  in  supreme  disgust,  ejacu- 
lated : 

"  Come  along,  Dinny.  This  nut's  looking  for  plas- 
terers, not  police!" 

"H—  1!"  muttered  Bud,  sheepishly.  And,  picking 
up  his  battered  derby-hat,  he  proceeded  up  to  his 
room  —  sober ! 


"STUPID"  AND  THE  GOATS 

In  which  the  "Goat"  butts  his  persecutors  and 
sheds  his  horns. 


"Stupid"  and  the  Goats. 

I. 

fT^HE  circle  of  regulars  that  attended  this  partic- 
ular  session  of  the  "Bible  Class"  which  congre- 
gated in  the  club  tap-room  every  Sunday  morning  for 
the  pious  purpose  of  imbibing  their  customary  eye- 
openers  and  bracers  were  busily  engaged  in  their 
favorite  diversion  of  collectively  riding  one  of  their 
number  rough-shod. 

Just  now,  Buck  was  "it,"  and  even  solemn  and 
sedate  old  Dennis,  the  waiter,  grinned  broadly,  as 
Buck  broke  under  the  barrage  of  banter  hurled  at  him. 

The  room  resounded  with  mirth  as  Cliff  joined  the 
circle. 

"'Ello,  everybody!  What's  the  row?"  greeted 
Cliff,  "What's  doing?" 

"Oh,  Buck's  delivering  a  dissertation  on  big  game- 
hunting  again.  Been  dragging  us  through  the  Cana- 

33 


34  Rummyniscences 

dian  Rockies,  killing  Moose  and  Caribou,  and  all  the 
other  varieties  of  goats  whose  heads  adorn  grills  and 
libraries,"  nagged  the  Shrimp. 

"Goats,  nothing!"  growled  Buck,  resentfully.  "At 
any  rate  not  the  human  and  Harlem  species  that  you 
have  been  reared  with.  And  at  that,  let  me  tell  you, 
there  are  some  goats  in  the  Rockies  that  are  well  worth 
hunting.  But  what's  the  use?  Can't  expect  a  bunch 
of  city  reared  f  ashionplates  to  appreciate  the  joys  of  the 
chase.  Can't  expect  it  from  rum-hounds  who  follow 
only  the  trails  that  lead  from  one  cafe  to  another  and 
whose  outdoor  activities  are  limited  to  golf  and  flounder- 
fishing!" 

"You've  never,  any  one  of  you,  experienced  a  real 
thrill,  barring  those  you  feel  when  somebody  buys. 
I'm  shut!" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know!"  persisted  the  Shrimp,  "for 
real  thrills  caviar  hunting  in  the  Vodka  swamps  of 
Russia  has  it  on  goat  shooting  a  dozen  ways!  You 
start  out  before  dawn  with  a  Mujik  guide,  and  a  flobert 
rifle,  and  a  brace  of  truffle  hounds  and  — 

"Oh,  chop  it!"  roardBuck.  "I'll  buy!  Anything 
to  stop  your  paretic  chatter.  More  liquor,  Dennis,  for 
the  Comedy  Kid  and  the  rest  of  the  minstrels!" 

"What  do  you  fellows  make  of  the  deal  'Stupe' 
Crosby  handed  us  last  night?"  interposed  Cliff,  tact- 


"Stupid"  and  the  Goats  35 

fully  shifting  the  subject.  "Pretty  rough  stuff  among 
friends!  I'm  off  of  him  for  good,  believe  me!" 

Noting  the  blank  and  inquiring  looks  that  greeted 
his  announcement,  he  continued,  "Why!  Hasn't  the 
Shrimp  told  you?" 

"Aw,  tell  them  yourself!"  replied  the  latter,  sulk- 
ily. "I'm  for  forgetting  that  sketch." 

Nevertheless,  after  some  urging,  the  Shrimp  re- 
counted the  episode. 

II. 

"Well,"  proceeded  the  Shrimp,  "after  dinner  last 
night,  'Stupe'  got  a  phone  call  and  started  to  make  a 
quick  get-away,  but  we  kept  liquoring  him  up  and  kid- 
ding him  out  of  leaving.  Finally  he  said,  'Boys,  you've 
got  me  all  wrong !  It  isn't  a  case  of  skirt  at  all !  Noth- 
in'  of  the  sort.  The  fact  is  I'm  going  to  flag  this  conge- 
nial bunch  for  a  vulgar  and  brutal  cock-fight.  If  you 
think  I'm  stalling,  why  come  along,  any  or  all  of  you, 
but  make  up  your  minds  quickly.  I'm  late  now,  as 
it  is.'" 

"Where's  it  coming  off?"  asks  Bud  Barrows,  strong 
for  any  kind  of  scrap,  as  usual. 

"  Out  in  Flushing,"  says  old  'Stupid.'  "  Come  along 
Bud.  You'll  meet  a  good  bunch  and  double  your  roll. 
I'm  in  right!" 


36  Rummyniscences 

"Too  far!  Case  of  all  night!"  answers  Bud  reluc- 
tantly. 

"Make  it  inside  of  an  hour.  Got  to!"  coaxes 
'Stupid.' 

"Never  saw  a  cock-fight!  Must  be  good  fun," 
murmured  the  Duke. 

"Never  saw  one  myself!"  added  Cliff.  "Don't 
think  I'd  care  for  it,  but  I'd  go  just  to  complete  my 
sporting  education,  —  that  is,  if  it  were  pulled  off  around 
these  diggings,  but  Flushing,  —  Good  Night!" 

"I'll  go,  if  you  go!"  said  I. 

"Let's  all  go!"  said  Bud  and  the  Duke  simulta- 
neously. 

"Come  along!"  says  'Stupid.'  "Shoot  you  out  in  a 
taxi  in  an  hour,  and  slip  you  the  dope  so  you'll  all  clean 
up!  Plenty  to  drink  and  a  good  bunch.  Come 
along!" 

"Well,"  continued  the  Shrimp,  after  a  pause.  "We 
fell !  Corralled  a  taxi,  and  piled  inside.  The  five  of  us. 
Some  cold  night  and  some  cold  ride!  Travelling  ice- 
box! 

"The  ruts  in  the  road  were  frozen  into  solid  ridges 
and  we  hurtled  around  inside  from  one  lap  to  another 
like  dice  in  a  box.  Took  us  two  solid  hours  to  make 
Flushing.  Half-hour  breakdown  on  some  God-for- 
saken road,  somewhere  between  New  York  and  Mon- 


"Stupid"  and  the  Goats  37 

tauk  Point.  We  were  a  cheerful  bunch  of  icicles  when 
we  finally  made  Flushing  —  not!" 

The  Shrimp  paused.  Cliff  crumpled  his  paper,  and 
shivered  as  with  a  chill,  at  the  recollection. 

"Umph!"  ejaculated  the  Misogamist,  "Flushing, 
eh!  Towards  midnight,  and  in  a  taxi,  on  the  coldest 
night  of  the  year!  Say,  you  fellows  were  heading  for 
the  wrong  town.  You  should  have  hit  the  pike  for 
Amityville.  There's  a  fine  big  asylum  there  for  all 
kinds  of  nuts." 

"Right  you  are,  Joe!"  laughed  the  Shrimp,  but 
listen  and  get  the  rest  of  it! 

Stupe  halted  our  taxi  in  front  of  a  tumble-down, 
dirty  looking  rum  dispensary.  We  piled  out,  stamping 
our  feet  and  swinging  our  arms,  trying  to  fan  up  the 
spark  of  life  that  flickered  within  us. 

"You  wait  inside,"  said  Stupe  to  the  chauffeur. 
"  Here,  blow  this  two  spot  for  drinks  and  smokes  while 
you're  waiting.  We'll  be  back  inside  of  a  couple  of 
hours.  Now  then,  fellows,  come  along!  We've  got  to 
hoof  it  a  quarter  of  a  mile  or  so.  Wouldn't  do,  you 
know,  to  drive  up  in  a  taxi.  Too  conspicuous!" 

Well,  we  hoofed  it,  trailing  along  behind  old  Stupid. 
It  was  bitter  cold  and  dark  as  pitch,  but  at  that  it  was 
better  than  our  cold  storage  taxi.  We  stumbled  along  a 
trolley  track,  through  a  deserted-looking  stretch  of 


38  Rummyniscences 

country,  for  a  full  half  mile,  stubbing  our  frozen  toes 
against  the  ties  and  cursing  ourselves  for  deserting  the 
comforts  of  the  club. 

"A  fine  night  for  a  murder!"  growled  the  Duke. 
"  Aw,buck  up ! "  said  Bud,"  it's  all  in  the  game.  Cheer 
up !     The  worst  is  yet  to  come !     I  think  this  is  bully ! " 

"  I  think  you'd  better  spend  two  bucks  and  get  your 
head  examined!"  retorted  the  Duke.  "This  sporting 
stuff  is  all  right  —  to  listen  to  in  front  of  a  log  fire,  with 
plenty  of  liquor  and  comfort.  I'm  about  all  in.  Serves 
me  right,  for  going  on  a  polar  expedition,  with  a  game 
leg,  too!"  "Water  on  the  knee,  the  doctor  thinks," 
he  added. 

"Water  on  the  knee!"  scoffed  Bud.  "Say,  don't 
worry,  Duke.  Nothing  to  it!  No  chance  for  any 
water  to  ever  get  into  your  system!" 

"Melted  ice  from  high-balls,  maybe!"  observed 
Cliff  sagely,  through  his  chattering  teeth. 

"Sh!  Stow  the  argument.  We're  almost  there. 
Don't  talk  above  a  whisper,"  commanded  Stupe. 
"There's  the  place!"  he  continued,  pointing  to  what 
appeared  to  be  a  cheerful  looking  road-house,  some  dis- 
tance ahead. 

"You  fellows  wait  here  while  I  go  ahead  and  fix  it 
up,"  commanded  Stupe  in  a  stealthy  whisper.  "Keep 
off  the  road  and  out  of  sight.  Maybe  constables  or 


"Stupid"  and  the  Goats  39 

deputies  hanging  around.  Stay  here  for  ten  minutes. 
That'll  give  me  plenty  of  time.  Then  come  up  one  at 
a  time,  but  don't  follow  each  other  too  closely.  Under- 
stand? You  come  up  first,  Shrimp,"  he  says  to  me. 
"The  main  is  being  pulled  off  in  the  cellar.  Walk  right 
up  into  the  bar-room  and  wait  for  me  there.  Wait 
ten  minutes  before  you  start,  and  the  rest  of  you  come 
following  along  one  at  a  time,  and  keep  quiet!  So  long, 
I'm  off!" 

III. 

Well,  we  huddled  together  and  waited.  Wow!  but 
it  was  cold.  Our  feet  turned  to  ice.  Finally  yours 
truly  started  out  for  the  road-house. 

I  entered  the  bar-room  feeling  very  self-conscious, 
but  walked  right  up  to  the  bar  nonchalantly,  as  it  were, 
which  in  my  case,  fellows,  really  meant  frozen  stiff. 
I  cast  about  for  Stupe,  but  he  wasn't  in  evidence,  so  I 
waited. 

A  portly  individual,  whom  I  rightly  sized  up  to  be 
the  proprietor,  rose  from  a  table  where  he  had  been 
playing  pinocle  with  two  natives,  who  eyed  me 
curiously,  and  waddled  around  behind  the  bar. 

There  was  no  one  else  in  sight. 

"Cold  night,  sir!  What'll  you  have?"  asks  His 
Corpulency. 


40  Rummy  niscences 

"A  hot  rum-toddy,  if  you  have  it!"  I  answer. 

"Sure!  And  a  good  drink  on  a  night  like  this! 
I'll  have  one  meself !"  says  the  proprietor. 

"Have  it  on  me!"  said  I,  taking  advantage  of  the 
opening,  to  get  in  right. 

"Thanks,  have  a  smoke!"  says  the  big  fellow, 
equally  generous,  passing  over  a  box  of  road-house 
delights. 

"What'll  your  friends  drink?"  I  countered,  looking 
over  at  the  two  natives  who  were  gaping  at  me  open- 
mouthed. 

"  Kind  of  late  to  be  prowling  about  on  a  cold  night ! " 
observed  the  proprietor  searchingly,  I  thought,  after 
serving  his  friends.  I  merely  nodded  assent. 

No  sign  of  Stupid,  as  yet,  so  I  ordered  a  second 
toddy,  just  as  the  Duke  blew  in,  his  nose  almost  blue, 
but  his  eyes  fairly  beaming  as  he  spied  the  steaming 
drinks. 

Then,  after  short  intervals,  Cliff  and  finally  Bud, 
arrived,  and  we  all  lined  up  at  the  bar  regaling  ourselves 
with  liquid  warmth. 

Still  no  sign  of  Stupe,  and  all  the  time  I  was  listen- 
ing for  signs  of  life  in  the  cellar,  and  wondering 
why  others  did  not  drift  in,  like  ourselves.  But  nary 
another  drift,  not  a  sound  from  below,  and  not  a  sign 
of  Stupe. 


"Stupid"  and  the  Goats  41 

I  began  to  get  suspicious.  So  did  the  bunch.  So 
did  the  proprietor.  So  did  his  cronies. 

The  proprietor  leaned  over  the  bar,  looked  me 
straight  in  the  eye  and  said,  "Say!  What's  the  game? 
If  you're  cops,  who  are  you  looking  for?  If  you're 
stick-up  men —  why,  go  to  it!  You're  welcome  to  the 
cash  register,  but  you're  in  the  wrong  alley,  Brother! 
There's  less  than  ten  dollars  in  it  and  you  can't  shake 
me  and  my  friends  down  for  more'n  a  couple  more.  If 
that's  your  game,  say  so,  and  we'll  shell  out.  Let's  get 
it  over  with!" 

Can  you  beat  that!  We  four  poor  frozen  simps, 
desperadoes !  Say,  we  felt  pretty  bad,  but  we  laughed 
our  fool  heads  off  and  assured  him  that  we  were  plain, 
ordinary  perfectly  harmless  citizens. 

He  apologized  profusely.  "I'm  rough  and  ready," 
he  explained,  "and  a  bit  blunt  spoken.  Begging  your 
pardon,  gents,  but  you'll  admit  you'd  be  a  bit  suspicious 
yourselves  if  four  strangers  dropped  into  your  place 
one  by  one,  on  a  hard  night  like  this,  and  they  all 
knows  each  other  and  comes  in  separate,  mysterious 
like,  and  keeps  lookin'  around.  Four  of  you,  one  at  a 
time,  and  no  rig  or  nothin',  and  all  strangers,  what's 
friends  to  each  other.  I  don't  want  to  make  no  more 
breaks,  but  what  or  who  are  you  looking  for?  I  know 
everybody  around  these  parts!" 


42  Rummyniscences 

Say,  fellows,  we  were  even  more  puzzled  than  he  was. 
He  seemed  on  the  level  sure  enough,  but  I  figured  he 
might  have  us  sized  up  for  deputies  or  something,  and 
that  he  might  be  stalling.  So  I  told  him  outright  that 
we  were  there  to  see  the  main,  as  Stupe's  guests. 

His  eyes  kept  getting  bigger  and  bigger.  "Chicken 
fight!"  he  gasped,  "and  in  my  cellar,  eh!  Not  if  I 
knows  it!  Say,  come  with  me!" 

He  walked  over  to  the  cellar  door,  opened  it  and 
switched  on  the  light. 

The  cellar  was  littered  with  boxes,  barrels  and  house- 
hold truck. 

"Ain't  room  to  spit,  let  alone  pull  a  main!"  he 
chuckled.  "You've  been  bunked.  What's  your 
friend's  name?  Mr.  Crosby?  Stupe  Crosby?  Don't 
know  the  gentleman,  at  least  not  as  I  knows  of.  And  he 
hasn't  been  here  neither,  for  outside  of  yourselves  and 
my  friends  here,  there  hasn't  been  a  soul  around  since 
nine  o'clock.  Chicken  fight?  Take  it  from  me,  there's 
no  such  thing  being  pulled  around  these  diggings  to- 
night. If  there  was,  I'd  be  there  meself !" 

"Well,  fellows,  to  cut  it  all  short  we  were  the  mad- 
dest, sorest,  sorriest  bunch  outside  of  jail.  We  lapped 
up  a  couple  of  more  hot  toddies  to  fortify  us  for  the  re- 
turn trip  and  hiked  to  our  taxi,  which  again  bumped 
and  jolted  us  back  to  the  big  burg.  Some  party!" 


''Stupid"  and  the  Goats  43 

concluded  the  Shrimp,  downing  his  high-ball  and  scowl- 
ing his  disgust  as  he  sank  back  in  his  chair. 

IV. 

"That's  right,  fellows,"  added  Cliff.  "That's 
what  Stupid  handed  us.  Roughest  kind  of  a  deal.  A 
joke's  a  joke  but  this  was  murder.  Wonder  what  be- 
came of  Stupe,  damn  him!  Must  have  been  drinking 
absinthe  or  smoking  hops.  He's  nutty,  he  is.  Plumb 
batty!" 

"Letter  for  you,  sir!  Just  delivered  by  messenger," 
interrupted  the  club  clerk. 

Cliff  tore  open  the  envelope,  read  the  missive, 
flushed  deeply  and  muttering  a  half  suppressed  oath 
crushed  it  in  his  fist. 

"Wha's  'se  matter,  Cliff?"  inquired  the  irrepressible 
Shrimp.  "Has  your  sweetie  suddenly  blown  cold  and 
given  you  the  gate?" 

"No,  you  saphead!  Read  it  yourself.  It  concerns 
you,  too.  Read  it  aloud ! "  and  Cliff  tossed  the  crumpled 
note  over  to  the  Shrimp. 

The  Shrimp  read  the  note  slowly,  his  voice  gradually 
dropping  to  a  whisper.  "Dear  Cliff,"  he  read,  "Come 
to  think  it  over  I  guess  that  cock-fight  gag  I  pulled  on 
you  fellows  last  night  was  rather  a  'stupid'  joke. 
'  Stupid '  —  that's  the  word !  What  else  could  you 


44  Rummyniscences 

expect  Stupid  to  pull  on  you?  Possibly  you  fellows  are 
a  bit  peeved.  Well,  I've  experienced  that  feeling  a 
number  of  times.  For  two  years  or  more  I've  stood 
for  that  'stupid'  stuff,  ever  since  I  was  foolish  and 
really  stupid  enough  to  tell  you  about  that  card  sharp 
fleecing  me  on  the  steamer  when  I  went  abroad.  And 
particularly  just  you  four  fellows  who  fell  for  my  blarney 
last  night,  made  a  practice  of,  and  seemed  to  take  much 
delight  in  hailing  me  as  '  Stupid '  in  private  and  public, 
anywhere  and  everywhere.  I  took  my  medicine,  suf- 
fered in  silence  and  never  squawked.  But  when  you 
pulled  it  at  Bud's  house  the  other  night  in  the  presence 
of  his  sisters  and  the  other  girls  I  determined  to  get  back 
at  you.  There  wasn't  any  cock-fight,  was  there? 
That  phone  call  for  me  at  the  club  last  night,  was  an 
invitation  from  my  brother-in-law  who  lives  in  Flushing 
to  spend  the  night  with  him  and  Sis.  I  started  to  ex- 
plain before  leaving  but  you  fellows  would  have  it  that 
the  call  came  from  some  doll,  and  goaded,  or  perhaps, 
inspired,  by  your  masterful  kidding,  I  handed  you  that 
cock-fight  yarn.  Many  thanks  for  the  taxi  ride  and 
the  rest  of  the  entertainment.  I  certainly  was  escorted 
out  to  Flushing  in  style.  By  the  time  you  poor  frozen 
simps  reached  the  road-house  I  was  snugly  and  warmly 
tucked  in  the  quilts.  Well  I  may  be  'stupid'  enough 
to  fall  for  a  card  sharp  but  you'll  have  to  admit  that  I've 


"Stupid"  and  the  Goats  45 

hung  it  on  four  'pretty  slick  gents.'  Now  I've  a  propo- 
sition to  make  to  you.  Let's  call  it  quits  and  to  show 
that  there's  no  hard  feeling  on  my  part  I'll  buy  the  din- 
ners and  a  box  at  the  Follies  on  Saturday  night.  I 
don't  dare  to  beard  you  fellows  much  before  then. 
Now  don't  be  'stupid'  about  it.  What  do  you  all 
say?  Your  old  side-kick,  Dick  Crosby." 

In  the  silence  that  ensued  Buck  quietly  remarked : 
"Speaking  of  goats  again  it  is  quite  evident  that 
these  dull  simple  creatures  are  not  yet  entirely  extinct 
in  these  parts  —  particularly  the  biped  species!" 


Wife-am:';/. 


THE  WORM  THAT  TURNED 

Wherein  Clabby  makes  a  suggestion  which  is 
promptly  acted  upon,  much  to  his  subsequent 
amazement  and  disgust. 


The  Worm  That  Turned. 


nursed  a  grouch.  The  mirrors  and  the 
mahogany  shone,  the  polished  brasswork  and  the 
glassware  glittered;  everything  looked  bright  and 
cheery,  —  but  Clabby. 

The  trouble  was  trivial  enough,  but  for  the  time  be- 
ing most  trying  to  indolent,  easy-going  Clabby.  One 
of  his  bartenders  had  quit  him  cold,  the  other  was  laid 
up  sick,  which  meant  that  Clabby  had  to  "go  some" 
for  the  whole  of  that  night,  for  his  place  was  popular 
and  much  patronized. 

Towards  one  in  the  morning,  the  worst  nigh  over, 
Clabby,  practically  "all  in,"  was  relieving  his  feelings 
somewhat  by  recounting  his  troubles  to  the  Duke  and 
Bud  Barrows,  who  listened  sympathetically  over  their 
hot  scotches. 

Outside  the  wind  howled  and  rattled  the  plate  glass. 

Zero  gusts  nipped  the  noses  and  ears  of  the  belated 

49 


50  Rummy  niscences 

prowlers.  Sensible  people  were  snugly  tucked  in  the 
quilts,  and  it  was  about  time  for  Clabby  to  close  and 
call  it  a  day,  or  rather  a  night,  when  the  door  opened 
and  a  human  scarecrow,  thin  and  wan,  filthy  and  ragged, 
advanced  hesitatingly  up  to  the  Duke  and  Bud,  and  in 
a  quavering,  tremulous  voice,  begged  to  be  staked  to  a 
drink. 

"Beat  it!"  growled  Clabby  ominously. 

The  poor  "down  and  outer"  persisted,  pleading 
pitiously,  shaking  like  an  aspen  leaf,  and  muttering  in- 
coherently about  the  cold,  sickness  and  hard  luck. 

"  Shaking  for  a  drink,"  growled  Clabby.  "  Old  gag ! 
What  d'ye  mean,  botherin'  my  customers?  Beat  it, 
while  the  beatin's  good!  Grease  yer  heels  and  slide!" 

"Have  a  heart,  Clabby,"  interrupted  the  Duke,  "he 
looks  as  if  he  were  dying  on  his  feet.  Fix  him  up  with 
something  hot." 

"A  drink!"  quavered  the  derelict.  "A  drink! 
Just  one  drink,  to  w — warm  me  up.  Need  it!  Honest, 
gents!" 

Bud  tossed  him  a  quarter  which  he  grabbed  eagerly, 
and  again  resumed  his  pleading  for  a  drink. 

"No  drink!"  replied  Bud.  "Get  yourself  a  bite 
and  some  coffee.  Here's  some  more  change,  for  a  bed 
in  a  lodging  house.  No  drink.  Nothing  doing. 
Vamoose!" 


The  Worm  That  Turned  51 

"  Won't  let  me  in  no  lodging  houses.  Got  me  black- 
listed. J — just  one  drink,  gents !  Youse  is  good  sports, 
j — just  one  — 

"Kin  ye  beat  that  fer  nerve?"  interposed  Clabby, 
coming  out  from  behind  the  bar.  "Them  bums  is  the 
limit.  Now  you  beat  it,  and  beat  it  quick!  If  ye 
can't  get  in  a  lodgin'  house  go  to  the  police  station. 
They'll  put  ye  up  on  a  night  like  this.  Beat  it  now! 
'Rouss!  No  more  palaver!" 

"Won't  have  me  in  de  station  house,  either!"  wailed 
the  derelict.  "Turned  me  away  last  night.  Lem'me 
buy  a  drink,  boss!" 

Clabby's  face  was  purple  with  rage.     "  Get  out,  get 
out,  you  bum !    Make  'em  take  ye !     Start  somethin'  - 
punch  somebody  —  break  a  pane  o'glass  or  somethin' 
and  get  yerself  arrested!     Beat  it,  an'  beat  it  quick!" 

And,  advancing  on  the  scarecrow,  he  seized  him  by 
the  collar  and  the  seat  of  the  trousers,  and  with  dex- 
terity acquired  in  days  gone  by  as  a  bouncer  in  a  Coney 
Island  dance  hall,  firmly  slid  him  to  and  through  the 
door. 

"Whew!"  he  said,  as  he  returned  behind  the  bar, 
"can  ye  beat  'em?  They're  the  limit,  those  bums! 
One  er  two  blows  in  every  night.  I'm  goin'  te  — ' 

Crash!  Bang!  A  clatter  of  broken  glass!  A 
cobblestone  bounced  over  the  tile  floor,  and  fetched  up 


52  Rummyniscences 

against  the  rear  partition.  A  cold  draft  blew  through 
a  jagged,  irregular  hole  in  the  plate-glass  front. 

"What  fell!"  ejaculated  Clabby. 

He  bounded  out  from  behind  the  bar  and  followed 
closely  by  Bud  and  the  Duke,  rushed  out  into  the  street. 

There  they  beheld  the  shivering  culprit,  firmly 
clutched  by  a  burly  bluecoat. 

"  Get  yer  coat  Clabby  and  come  along  and  file  yer 
complaint  with  the  Lootenant,"  commanded  the  officer. 
"I  seen  him  smash  yer  glass  meself.  Three  months  on 
the  Island  for  this  bird!" 

And  as  he  haled  his  passive  and  unresisting  captive 
to  the  station-house,  the  latter,  leering  at  Clabby,  mut- 
tered — 

"  He  t  —  t  —  told  me  to  b  —  b  —  bust  aw  — 
winder  an'  1 1  —  took  his  advice!" 

The  worm  had  turned! 


A  ROLL  THROUGH  A  NIGHT 

The  log  of  a  bibulous  Odyssey  —  and  what  befell. 


A  Roll  Through  A  Night. 

I. 

A     TWO  days'  growth  of  beard  camouflaged  Cliff's 

features;    his  shoes  were  spattered  with  mortar, 

and  his  blue  serge  suit  was  soiled  with  lime  and  plaster 

drippings,  for  he  had  been  "on  the  job,"  inspecting  one 

of  his  firm's  building  contracts. 

Home  was  Cliff's  one  best  bet  and  he  knew  it,  but  in 
the  days  preceding  the  present  era  of  parched  throats 
and  aridness  —  the  days  when  King  Alcohol  and  his 
Prime  Minister,  John  Barleycorn  still  held  sway, — 
there  existed  many  snug  harbors,  whose  lights  and  at- 
tractions lured  the  nocturnal  rovers  of  those  days  and 
oft  delayed  the  passage  homeward. 

Cliff  certainly  should  have  kept  going  and  made  his 
train,  but  force  of  habit,  refractory  feet,  and  a  pro- 
nounced thirst,  diverted  him  from  the  homeward  path; 

anyhow,  he  stopped  as  usual,  "for  just  one,"  and  now, 

55 


56  Rummy  niscences 

surrounded  by  his  cronies,  and  overwhelmed  by  their 
eloquence,  and  a  quick  sequence  of  high-balls,  he  found 
himself  in  the  Duke's  car,  alongside  of  Larry,  the  chau- 
ffeur, on  the  way  down  to  Sheepshead  for  dinner,  with 
the  Duke  and  Skeets  Porter  and  Bud  Barrows  and  the 
Shrimp,  seated  back  of  him,  all  primed  for  a  merry 
evening  and  a  rollicking  night. 

II. 

The  merciless  "kidding"  that  his  friends  subjected 
him  to  because  of  his  bewhiskered  and  generally  bedrag- 
gled appearance,  was  brought  to  a  climax  by  an  un- 
toward incident  that  made  him  feel,  if  possible,  even 
more  self-conscious  and  uncomfortable. 

As  they  rolled  along  the  Boulevard  they  passed  a 
snappy  looking  runabout,  pulled  up  alongside  the  curb, 
and  caught  a  fleeting  glimpse  of  a  very  attractive  little 
brunette,  sitting  on  the  running-board  with  a  kit  of 
tools  spread  out  alongside  of  her,  looking  most  woe- 
begone and  disconsolate. 

Of  course,  they  stopped  and  backed  their  car  along- 
side. 

Case  of  a  flat  shoe,  and —  "Such  a  messy  job!"  — 
"Oh,  I  wish  I  were  a  man!  Girls  are  so  helpless!"  — 
"  Oh,  thank  you  so  much!  I  really  don't  know  how! 
So  good  of  you!"  —  and  so  forth. 


A  Roll  Through  A  Night  57 

And  Larry  and  Cliff  piled  out  and  jacked  up  the 
car  and  sweated  and  toiled  and  changed  the  shoe,  while 
the  others  held  an  animated  conversation  with  the  at- 
tractive and  forlorn  damsel,  who  was  now  all  smiles 
and  graciousness. 

Just  as  Cliff  and  Larry  were  finishing  the  job,  a 
cutely  mustached,  be-spatted  and  immaculate  fashion- 
plate  sauntered  up  from  a  road  house,  where  he  had 
evidently  regaled  himself  while  Cliff  and  Larry  toiled 
and  inquired  loftily,  "My  dear,  who  are  these  people?" 

There  followed  explanations  on  the  part  of  the  lead- 
ing and  only  lady,  and  laudations  of  the  consideration 
and  kindness  of  the  Duke,  Bud,  et  al.,  and  more  or  less 
gloom  on  their  part,  and  polite  thanks  on  the  part  of  the 
dandified  swain,  accompanied  by  a  proffer  of  cigars, 
and  then  with  a  glance,  a  superior  and  supercilious 
glance,  at  Cliff  and  Larry,  particularly  at  Cliff,  whom 
he  evidently  sized  up  as  a  mechanic  or  other  type  of 
inferior  mortal,  he  proffered  Larry  a  two  dollar  bill, 
told  him  to  split  it  with  "the  other  fellow,"  climbed  into 
the  runabout,  alongside  of  the  brunette  whose  alluring 
smiles  now  appeared  quite  roguish,  grasped  the  wheel 
and  with  a  graceful,  farewell  flourish  of  his  left  hand, 
whisked  the  enchantress  away,  —  while  the  others 
gazed  after  them  blankly  and  open-mouthed,  and  Cliff, 
flushed,  grew  white  and  flushed  again.  Then  a  series 


58  Rurnmyniscences 

of  explosive  comments,  and  more  grilling  for  Cliff,  on 
whom  they  proceeded  to  take  it  all  out,  as  they  too 
rolled  on.  Cliff  wasn't  exactly  having  a  good  time 
thus  far. 

At  Villacorde's,  where  they  alighted  at  the  height  of 
the  dinner  rush,  things  fairly  hummed.  Conversation 
buzzed,  dishes  clattered,  the  ebony-hued  waiters  per- 
spired, the  band  jazzed,  and  Madame,  serene  and  placid 
in  the  midst  of  bedlam,  greeted  the  party  with  a  gra- 
cious, if  studied,  smile  of  welcome  that  enfolded  them 
all  as  impartially  and  completely  as  a  burst  of  sunshine, 
-  though  be  it  confessed  that  the  big  mulatto  Major 
Domo  who  led  them  to  their  table,  looked  at  Cliff 
askance  and  certainly  a  bit  contemptuously,  if  not  sus- 
piciously, in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  latter  had  man- 
aged to  spruce  up  somewhat,  before  entering. 

They  seated  themselves,  ordered  their  favorite  cock- 
tails, and  complacently  absorbed  the  congenial  and 
familiar  atmosphere. 

"Same  old  crowd!"  commented  Buck,  "Hall-room 
boys  and  heiresses,  perfidious  husbands  and  their 
'stenogs.,'  young  bloods  and  old  bucks,  swell  chicks  and 
old  hens.  All  the  fifty-seven  varieties  of  Janes  and 
Johns." 

"Pipe  the  pippins  with  the  two  old  bucks  over  in 
the  corner!"  observed  the  Duke.  "How  do  they  man- 


A  Roll  Through  A  Night  59 

age  to  get  them?  Snowy  hair  and  bald  domes  sure 
have  the  call  over  athletic  youth  and  symmetry.  Well, 
I  suppose  my  luck  will  change  when  I'm  old  and  de- 
crepit!" he  concluded. 

"Cheer  up!"  laughed  the  Shrimp,  "maybe  your 
bank  roll  will  fatten  as  your  hair  thins  out,  and  then 
you'll  be  pestered  with  clusters  of  them.  Here  comes 
the  fodder!  Pitch  in!  I'm  for  the  eats !" 

And  they  fell  to,  as  the  first  course  of  the  famous 
Villacorde  shore  dinner  was  set  before  them. 

Between  courses  and  over  their  cordials,  they  in- 
dulged in  much  persiflage  and  humorous  comment  at 
the  expense  of  the  other  diners,  and  they  ogled  the 
pretty  girls  and  engaged  in  surreptitious  flirtation. 

But  the  tables  were  presently  turned  on  them  most 
unexpectedly. 

The  jazz  band,  wending  its  way  among  the  diners, 
came  upon  them. 

The  leader  spotted  them  and  made  for  their  table 
with  a  broad  grin.  Stag  parties  were  his  meat.  He 
grouped  his  dusky  troubadours  about  them,  and  with 
much  flashing  of  ivories  and  characteristic  negro  antics 
they  strummed  their  ukeleles  and  burst  into  the  song: 
"Gee!  Don't  I  wish  I  had  a  girl  like  the  other  fellows 
have!"  to  the  great  delight  of  all  the  other  guests  as 
evinced  by  their  vociferous  applause. 


60  Rummyniscences 

And  then,  noting  Cliff's  bewhiskered  chin,  the  leader 
and  arch  villain  placed  himself  directly  in  front  of  him 
and  sang  the  famous  "Vagabond"  song,  while  Cliff 
flushed  and  blushed,  and  his  hand  involuntarily  sought 
his  chin,  in  a  futile  effort  to  conceal  the  luxuriant  crop 
that  adorned  it. 

"Serves  me  right  for  allowing  you  hounds  to  drag 
me  down  to  the  shore  like  this,  without  even  giving  me 
a  chance  to  get  shaved,"  muttered  Cliff,  "if  I  ever — " 

"Aw,  can  the  growl!"  interrupted  the  Duke. 
"You're  worse  than  a  skirt.  All  fussed  up  because 
your  nose  isn't  powdered.  Come  on  fellows  let's  pull 
away  from  here.  Cliff's  sore  on  this  ranch.  Let's 
roll  up  the  line." 

III. 

Larry  pulled  up  and  away  they  rolled,  through  the 
balmy  summer  night,  through  the  Long  Island  hamlets 
and  countryside  making  frequent  stops  at  the  numerous 
hostelries  that  nestled  along  the  road-side,  imbibing 
further  liquid  cheer  at  each  stop,  till  their  merriment 
grew  into  boisterousness,  and  they  burst  into  song, 
rending  and  scandalizing  the  serene  night  with  snatches 
of  maudlin  melodies,  in  which  Bud's  rumbling  bass 
tempered  the  Shrimp's  crescendo  tenor,  while  the  others 
brayed  in  unison,  if  not  in  harmony. 


A  Roll  Through  A  Night  61 

"  Ping !    Pff  —  f ! "  Larry  brought  the  car  to  a  stop. 

"Left  front  shoe,  d —  n  the  luck!"  swore  Cliff  who 
had  hopped  out. 

"'Sail  right!  No  hurry!  You'n  Larry  change  it. 
'Nother  two  bucks!  I'll  stake  you!"  nagged  the 
Shrimp. 

Before  Cliff  could  reply  another  car  rolled  up  from 
behind  and  stopped. 

"Pull  over!  Pull  over!  Want  the  whole  road?" 
bawled  the  individual  at  the  wheel  with  arrogant  inso- 
lence. 

Cliff  glanced  at  the  car,  —  a  snappy  runabout,  — 
then  at  its  occupants. 

His  eyes  narrowed  and  gleamed  wickedly. 

"Why,  hello!"  Cliff  greeted  the  driver.  "This 
is  certainly  a  pleasure.  Delighted  to  see  you 
again!" 

"You  are  mistaken.  I  don't  know  you.  Let  us 
pass!"  rejoined  he  of  the  spats  and  dainty  mustachios 
nervously,  as  the  ravishing  little  brunette  clung  to  him 
apprehensively. 

"  Oh,  yes  you  do ! "  retorted  Cliff.  "  We  gave  you  a 
lift  earlier  in  the  evening  and  here's  where  you  recipro- 
cate. Hey,  Larry!  Block  his  rear  wheels  with  some 
rocks  from  that  wall,  so  he  can't  back  away.  'Atta 
boy!" 


62  Rummyniscences 

The  dandy  threatened  and  the  little  brunette 
pleaded  tearfully,  but  Cliff  was  adamant. 

"Cut  the  palaver  and  get  busy!"  he  commanded, 
brusquely.  "  Sorry,  Miss,  but  your  friend  needs  a  little 
lesson.  Climb  out,  or  I'll  yank  you  out!  We  changed 
your  shoe  and  you  gave  us  the  laugh.  Now  you 
change  ours.  That's  fair  enough!  If  you're  decent 
about  it,  Larry  will  give  you  a  hand;  if  you  don't,  I'll 
take  it  out  of  your  hide!" 

"  Oh  Reggie,  don't  resist  the  brute !  He  looks  mur- 
derous!" wailed  the  brunette. 

"  But  I  paid  you  for  changing  my  shoe ! "  protested 
Reggie,  weakly.  "I  say,  wasn't  it  quite  enough? 
Here's  five  dollars,  my  good  fellow.  Now  do  be  reason- 
able !  I  really  cawn't  — 

"G'rr!"  growled  Cliff,  throwing  off  his  coat,  "y°u 
can  that  chatter  and  get  busy !  Get  a  wiggle  on  or  by 
God  I'll—" 

The  little  brunette  burst  into  tears.     Cliff  paused. 

The  affrighted  dandy  had  already  hopped  down  and 
proceeded  to  wiggle.  With  Larry's  help  he  changed  the 
shoe,  thoroughly  besmudging  himself  in  the  process, 
the  while  Cliff  and  the  bunch  alternated  between  poking 
gibes  at  him  and  convulsing  the  now  reassured  and 
evidently  contrite  little  brunette. 

"And  here's  something  for  your  trouble,  old  dear!" 


A  Roll  Through  A  Night  63 

was  Cliff's  parting  shot  as  he  tossed  the  now  rather 
disreputable  looking  and  much  abashed  dandy  a  two 
dollar  bill,  before  they  rolled  gleefully  on  their 


IV. 

Towards  midnight  they  pulled  up  at  the  Hermitage 
and  alighted  there  for  a  little  bite  and  whatever  diver- 
sion the  place  might  afford. 

The  Shrimp  was  by  this  time  much  the  worse  for 
wear.  He  clambered  uncertainly  out  of  the  car, 
stumbled  up  the  steps  and  lurched  into  the  foyer,  his 
eyes  out  of  focus  and  staring  wildly.  The  others  fol- 
lowed none  too  steadily,  Cliff  bringing  up  the  rear  and 
looking  more  disreputable  than  ever,  for  as  the  result  of 
helping  Larry  to  change  another  blown  shoe,  he  had 
added  a  liberal  accumulation  of  grease  stains  and  road- 
dirt  to  his  mortar-stained  clothes.  His  beard,  too, 
seemed  a  full  eighth  of  an  inch  longer  and  correspond- 
ingly scrubbier.  Moreover,  he  had  lost  his  straw  hat, 
and  wore  in  its  stead  a  wrinkled,  greasy  old  cap  that 
Larry  had  extracted  from  the  tool-box. 

The  head-waiter  regarded  them  with  evident  dis- 
favor and  appeared  much  relieved  when  they  headed 
for  the  cafe  instead  of  the  dining  room.  But  Joe,  the 
general  factotum  behind  the  cozy  little  bar,  welcomed 
them  cordially,  for,  outside  the  summer  season,  he 


64  Rummyniscences 

worked  behind  the  bar  of  a  leading  Broadway  hotel 
and  he  knew  "the  bunch." 

With  the  exception  of  two  very  inebriated  young 
bloods,  still  in  their  early  twenties,  who  clutched  the 
bar  and  incoherently  avowed  their  undying  friendship 
for  each  other,  their  alma  mater,  and  what  not,  —  the 
newcomers  were  the  only  occupants  of  the  cafe. 

Presently,  after  they  had  consumed  several  high- 
balls, Joe,  winking  mysteriously,  set  before  them  five 
champagne  glasses,  which  he  proceeded  to  fill  from  two 
pint  bottles  of  Pommery. 

"  Who  started  that  fool  stunt?  "  protested  Bud,  while 
the  rest  looked  at  each  other  blankly. 

"  Sh !  It's  all  right.  Lick  'em  up ! "  whispered  Joe, 
leaning  towards  them  and  grinning  broadly.  "Them 
two  young  souses  have  been  ordering  pints  about  as 
fast  as  I  can  open  'em  up.  I've  got  six  more  stowed 
under  the  bar.  They're  so  'pifflicated'  they  can't  see, 
and  they're  rotten  with  coin.  More  money  than 
brains !  So  I'm  not  feeding  'em  any  more  wine,  'n  just 
kidding  'em  along.  When  they  holler  for  another  pint, 
I  open  one,  make  a  bluff  at  pouring  it  with  my  left 
mitt,  while  with  my  trusty  right  I  reach  under  the  bar 
and  grab  a  bottle  of  sparkling  apple  juice,  what's 
charged  and  full  o'  bubbles,  'n  looks  like  wine.  I  gently 
switch  the  two  an'  feeds  'em  the  apple  juice.  You  get 


A  Roll  Through  A  Night  65 

the  wine,  which  is  all  opened  and  got  to  be  poured 
anyhow;  they  get  the  soft  stuff,  which  is  better  fer 
those  infants,  an'  I  get  the  satisfaction  of  — " 

"You  get  the  satisfaction  of  grabbing  this  for  a 
starter,  you  old  pirate!"  laughed  Bud,  slipping  him  a 
dollar  bill.  Turning  to  his  friends,  he  inquired  — 
"  Well,  fellows,  what  do  you  say  ?  It's  poured  out  for  us 
and  Joe  insists  that  it  must  be  'licked  up.'  Pretty  soft 
for  us,  but  kind  of  rough  on  those  two  young  innocents. 
But  Joe's  right.  They're  better  off  without  it.  So 
let's  drink  their  health  and  wish  them  good  luck! 
Here's  to  them!  How!" 

The  novelty  and  humor  of  the  situation  imparted 
additional  zest  and  flavor  to  the  wine,  and  they  drained 
glass  after  glass,  for,  as  the  two  inebriated  young  bloods 
observed  that  the  newcomers  were  likewise  drinking 
wine,  they  ordered  more  pints  to  maintain  their  prestige 
until,  finally,  a  friend  appeared  to  summon  them  back 
to  their  party  and  they  reeled  out. 

The  Shrimp  was  now  all  but  out.  "Where'sh  the 
boss  —  sh? "  he  inquired  of  Joe,  thickly.  "Where'sh  oF 
Gus— sh?  Wantt'shee— 'm.  Where'sh  Gus—sh?" 

"Upstairs,"  replied  Joe.  "He'll  be  down  any 
minute.  Little  game  upstairs." 

"Wanna  shee'm,"  mumbled  the  Shrimp,  "where'sh 
game?" 


66  Rummyniscences 

"Top  floor,  better  wait  till  he  comes  down,"  an- 
swered Joe. 

"How'sh  I  get  up  there?"  persisted  the  Shrimp. 

"Take  the  elevator,"  replied  Joe,  smiling  compla- 
cently at  his  own  wit,  inasmuch  as  the  three  story 
building  boasted  no  such  contrivance. 

"Where'sh  elevator?  Ou'side  'n  the  hall?"  sput- 
tered the  Shrimp. 

Joe  nodded  and  the  Shrimp  reeled  out  into  the  foyer, 
where  he  paused,  swaying  uncertainly,  and  squinting 
his  left  eye  to  get  his  bearings.  Then,  spotting  the 
immense  fireplace,  which  he  evidently  mistook  for  the 
open  door  of  the  elevator,  he  lurched  towards  and  di- 
rectly into  it,  and  stumbling  over  some  half  consumed 
logs,  —  relics  of  the  last  chill  March  night  —  sprawled 
into  the  ashes  and  passed  out,  with  one  arm  under  his 
face,  and  the  other  fondly  wrapped  about  one  of  the 
capsized  andirons. 

There  they  eventually  discovered  him,  snoring 
peacefully,  and  hauled  him  out,  besmeared  with  ashes 
and  carried  him  out  to  the  car,  still  dead  to  the  world* 
and  tucked  him  away  in  the  rear  seat,  with  Larry  to 
watch  over  him. 

"Now  for  some  eats,  to  sop  up  the  wine,  before  we 
roll  back  to  the  big  burg,"  suggested  Bud.  The  others 
acquiesced  and  they  filed  into  the  dining  room. 


A  Roll  Through  A  Night  67 

The  head  waiter,  hostile  from  the  moment  of  their 
arrival,  conducted  them  loftily  to  the  farthest  and  least 
conspicuous  table,  —  one  set  in  an  alcove  —  where  they 
were  quite  secluded  and  would  not  offend  the  sensibili- 
ties of  the  few  late  guests  who  still  lingered  over  cordials 
and  nightcaps.  Silently  he  handed  them  a  menu,  and 
surlily,  with  never  a  smile,  he  took  Bud's  order  for  a 
double  sirloin,  smothered  with  "violets,"  and,  after 
noting  the  rest  of  their  order  without  a  comment  or 
suggestion,  he  withdrew  —  all  dignity. 

"Amiable  chap,"  commented  Skeets.  "Wonder 
what  ails  the  d — n  crab ! " 

' '  D — n  crab !  D — n  crab !  Ho !  Ho !  D — n  crab ! ' ' 
echoed  the  proprietress'  parrot,  which  shared  the  alcove 
with  them,  blinking  its  eyes  sagely. 

"Right  you  are,  Polly,"  laughed  Skeets,  and  arising 
from  his  seat,  he  approached  the  cage  and  in  modulated 
tones  confided  his  further  opinion  of  the  head  water,  to 
the  receptive  and  loquacious  parrot. 

"Sap-head!  Blanketty  blank,  blank  sap-head!' 
shrieked  Polly  most  profanely,  responding  volubly  and 
ecstatically  to  Skeets'  prompting,  to  the  delight  of  the 
other  revellers,  the  disgust  of  the  head  waiter,  and  the 
dismay  of  the  scandalized  proprietress,  who  left  the 
table  at  which  she  was  sitting  with  some  guests,  rushed 
up  and  extinguished  Polly's  profanity  by  throwing  a 


68  Rummyniscences 

dark  cloth  over  her  cage.  Then  with  a  contemptuous 
glance  at  the  entire  party,  she  flounced  back  indignantly 
to  her  guests. 

"Guess  we're  about  as  popular  and  welcome  as  the 
smallpox ! "  observed  the  Duke,  after  they  had  recovered 
their  equanimity. 

"Well,  here  come  the  eats.  Drink  up,  fellows! 
Here's  to  our  beloved  and  departed  comrade,  the 
Shrimp!" 

Cliff  said  little  or  nothing.  He  ate  sullenly,  con- 
scious of  his  disreputable  appearance. 

While  the  others  drank  and  made  merry,  he  fished 
out  the  stub  of  a  soft  pencil,  and  moodily  soothed  his 
low  spirits  by  indulging  his  artistic  temperament,  cov- 
ering the  white  tablecloth  with  caricatures. 

His  art  studies  were  rudely  terminated  by  the  hos- 
tile head  waiter,  who,  catching  a  glimpse  of  the  deco- 
rated tablecloth  as  he  passed  by,  stopped  short,  and 
ordered  Cliff  to  desist. 

"Say!"  he  remonstrated,  "where  do  you  think  you 
are?  If  you  spoil  any  more  linen  you'll  have  to  pay  for 
it!"  And,  as  Cliff  glared  at  him  speechless,  he  added, 
"And  if  you  don't  like  it,  get  out!  This  is  no  spaghetti 
joint  for  frowsy,  long  whiskered  artists!  Get  me?" 
and  he  withdrew  before  Cliff  could  find  words  to  resent 
this  new  indignity. 


A  Roll  Through  A  Night  69 

Thunder  clouds  were  surely  gathering  on  the 
horizon. 

Skeets,  meanwhile,  had  surreptitiously  removed  the 
cloth  from  Polly's  cage,  and  was  endeavoring  to  coax 
her  into  a  chat  by  the  repetition  of  a  choice  line  of  epi- 
thets and  profanity,  descriptive  of  the  place  in  general 
and  the  head  waiter  in  particular. 

But  Polly,  who  evidently  regarded  Skeets  as  the 
cause  of  her  disgrace,  sulked,  cocked  her  eye  knowingly, 
and  sidled  away  to  the  far  corner  of  the  cage,  refusing 
to  succumb  to  the  blandishments  of  this  masculine 
flatterer. 

And  then,  as  Skeets  moved  around  the  cage  and 
thrust  his  fingers  between  the  bars,  with  a  peace  offering 
in  the  shape  of  a  lump  of  sugar,  Polly  swiftly  and  venge- 
fully  sank  her  beak  into  his  forefinger,  right  to  the  bone, 
and  hung  on  for  dear  life,  while  Skeets  danced  and 
howled  and  swore  more  powerful  and  profuse  oaths 
than  Polly  could  ever  have  mastered. 

In  the  midst  of  the  excitement  that  followed,  Cliff, 
with  rare  presence  of  mind,  and  true  to  his  training  as 
a  member  of  the  volunteer  fire  department  in  his  home 
town,  seized  a  syphon  of  vichy  from  the  table,  and  let 
Polly  have  the  contents  straight  between  the  eyes, 
sousing  her  completely,  till  —  stunned,  drenched  and 
half -drowned,  —  she  relaxed  her  grip  on  Skeets'  finger, 


70  Rummyniscences 

and  flopped  about  the  cage  in  a  rage,  dismally  shrieking 
-"Poor  Pol,  pretty  Pol!  D — n  your  soul!  Poor 
Pol!" 

Then  pandemonium.  The  proprietress  gathered 
up  her  skirts  and  flew  to  the  rescue.  She  swooped  down 
on  Cliff,  pummeled  his  back  and  shoulders  and  clawed 
his  face,  still  further  marring  his  classic  beauty,  as  the 
head  waiter  and  the  other  waiters  rushed  up  and  into 
the  fracas. 

The  battle  surged  to  and  fro,  through  the  dining 
room  and  out  into  the  foyer,  with  honors  even.  Skeets, 
in  the  meantime,  had  managed  to  slip  out  and  arouse 
Larry,  and  returned  to  the  fray  with  the  latter  just  as 
Cliff  had  the  extreme  satisfaction  of  landing  a  powerful 
and  well  directed  right  hand  wallop,  plumb  on  the  head 
waiter's  chin,  which  sent  him  toppling  —  for  the  count 
—  right  into  the  identical  fireplace  and  ashes,  in  which 
the  Shrimp  had  snored  tranquilly  earlier  in  the  night. 

As  Skeets  and  Larry  rushed  up,  the  belligerent 
waiters,  seeing  their  leader  sprawled  out,  hors-de-com- 
bat,  in  the  fireplace,  backed  away  and  retreated  to  the 
dining  room,  whereupon  our  victorious  battlers  retired 
to  their  car  and  rolled  away,  back  to  the  big  city,  where 
they  arrived  at  daybreak,  battered  and  sore,  but  ex- 
ultant. 

So  they  called  it  a  night  and  dispersed  to  their 


A  Roll  Through  A  Night  71 

various  homes,  —  all  but  Cliff.  He  lived  in  a  suburban 
town,  and  was  confronted  with  an  hour's  wait  before 
a  train  would  take  him  home  for  a  bath,  shave,  general 
sprucing  up  and  return  to  self-respect. 

V. 

He  strolled  into  Bryant  Park  and  sat  down  on  a 
bench,  with  his  elbows  on  his  knees  and  his  face  in  his 
hands.  Other  benches  were  occupied  by  a  collection 
of  hoboes  who  had  been  there  all  night  and  were  still 
sleeping,  in  a  variety  of  uncomfortable  attitudes. 
Ragged  and  filthy  as  they  all  looked,  not  one  of  these 
hoboes  had  anything  on  Cliff,  in  the  way  of  frowsy 
and  disreputable  appearance. 

The  policeman  who  presently  made  the  rounds  and 
awoke  these  derelicts  by  the  simple  process  of  delivering 
a  sharp  clip  with  his  night-stick,  on  the  worn-out  soles 
of  their  shoes,  paused  a  moment  to  survey  Cliff,  whom 
he  evidently  considered  a  most  undesirable  acquisition 
to  the  disreputable  fold  —  but  passed  on  without  com- 
ment, merely  pausing  to  glance  back  and  bestow  an- 
other suspicious  and  searching  look  to  fix  him  in  his 
memory. 

Then,  as  the  sun  began  to  climb  over  the  surrounding 
house-tops,  and  the  birds  twittered  and  foraged  their 
breakfast,  the  particular  gaunt  and  ragged  'bo  who 


72  Rummyniscences 

occupied  the  bench  directly  across  the  path  from  Cliff, 
came  to  life,  stretched,  gave  himself  a  shake  or  two  and 
ran  his  fingers  through  his  hair  and  whiskers.  His 
morning  toilet  thus  completed,  he  sat  up  and  regarded 
Cliff  furtively  for  some  time,  and  finally,  evidently 
satisfied  with  his  survey,  unbuttoned  his  shirt,  reached 
under  it,  and  from  somewhere  between  the  region  of  his 
arm-pit  and  his  abdomen,  he  pulled  out  a  greasy  paper 
bag  and  extracted  from  it  a  sickly  looking  cruller  which 
he  hesitatingly  and  generously  offered  Cliff,  with  the 
remark:  "Have  a  bite,  pard!  I  got  two  more!" 

Poor  Cliff!  The  ragged  'bo  actually  felt  sorry  for 
him!  Annoyed  and  yet  amused,  Cliff  arose,  waved 
aside  the  cruller,  dug  a  half-dollar  out  of  his  jeans,  tossed 
it  to  the  astounded  hobo,  and  more  disgusted  with 
himself  than  ever  he  sauntered  over  to  a  bench  on  the 
other  side  of  the  park  only  to  be  ordered  to  "Move  on 
and  keep  moving"  by  the  vigilant  and  hostile  bluecoat, 
who  had  observed  his  shift  of  anchorage  with  increased 
suspicion. 

"H— 1!"  muttered  Cliff,  "Guess  I'm  a  pretty  tough 
looking  citizen  for  a  gentleman  and  a  scholar.  A 
stubbly  chin  and  a  little  grime  and  —  bang!  —  goes 
gentility,  into  the  discard!  What  we  are,  we  are,  but 
it's  what  we  appear  to  be  that  gets  us  a  kick  or  a  smile 
in  this  big  metropoh's  of  buncombe  and  camouflage." 


A  Roll  Through  A  Night  73 

Four  hours  later,  Cliff,  metamorphosed  and  immac- 
ulate, was  accorded  marked  courtesy  as  the  represen- 
tative of  his  firm,  at  a  conference  held  in  one  of  the  most 
luxurious  offices  in  the  financial  district. 

"Such  is  life!"  he  soliloquized  .  .  .  "and  New 
York  .  .  !" 


WESTERN  UNION  NO.  2074 

The  tale  of  how  a  stormy  night  and  a  Wall  Street 
leak  culminated  in  "the  Widdy  O'Kane's  mirricle." 


Western  Union  No.  2074. 

I. 

"DUSINESS  in  "Corrigan's"  was  dull  for  the  time 
^~^  being.  The  intermission  jam  had  dispersed  itself 
and  returned  to  the  various  theatres. 

Outside,  a  driving  sleet  that  blinded  pedestrians, 
and  malevolent  March  gusts  that  swooped  down,  whisk- 
ing off  hats  and  wrecking  umbrellas,  kept  the  few  regu- 
lars that  still  patronized  big  Joe's  bar,  from  making  the 
rounds  and  visiting  other  haunts. 

Wheeler  blew  in,  stamping  his  feet  and  flicking  the 
sleet  from  his  slouch  hat. 

"Hello,  Tip!"  the  Duke  greeted  him.  "Fine  night 
to  murder  a  Chinaman,  eh!  We'd  about  given  you  up. 
What'll  you  have?" 

"Something  hot  with  a  good  kick  in  it,"  grinned 
Tip.  "  Make  it  a  hot  scotch.  Wow,  but  it's  tough  out ! 
Some  storm!" 

They  adjourned  to  their  favorite  table  and  proceeded 

77 


78  Rummyniscences 

to  while  away  the  evening  with  their  customary 
banter. 

"Something  up,  outside!"  announced  Tip  pres- 
ently, making  for  the  door. 

"Couple  of  drunks,  probably,"  opined  Buck,  as 
they  vaguely  discerned  through  the  frosted  plate  glass, 
a  group  clustered  in  front  of  the  cafe. 

A  moment  later  Tip  returned,  bearing  in  his  arms  a 
frail  looking,  unconscious  messenger  boy,  pale  as  a 
sheet  and  wet  to  the  skin. 

He  deposited  him  tenderly  on  the  leather  settee  in 
the  corner. 

"Kid's  all  in,  Joe!"  announced  Tip,  as  he  undid  the 
boy's  shoe  laces;  "Pull  off  his  coat  and  vest,  and  take 
off  his  collar  and  tie,  Buck,"  he  commanded,  as  he  pro- 
ceeded to  slap  the  youngster's  hands  and  vigorously 
rub  his  feet  to  restore  circulation. 

"I'll  fix  him  up  some  hot  beef  broth,"  volunteered 
big  Joe.  "The  kid  looks  starved  and  chilled  to 
death." 

As  he  came  out  of  his  faint  and  opened  his  eyes,  the 
boy  looked  around  bewildered.  He  half  rose,  but  sank 
back  again  weakly. 

"Lie  still!"  commanded  Tip.  "You're  all  right. 
Here,  get  that  into  you!"  proffering  him  the  beef  broth 
that  Joe  handed  over. 


Western  Union  No.  2074  79 

"Lem'me  up,"  begged  the  youngster  after  finishing 
the  broth  with  eager  relish.  "  Got  another  message  to 
d'liver.  Gee!  I'm  way  late!  Lem'me  up,  please, 
and  thank  you.  Got  to  deliver  message." 

"Hang  your  message!  Forget  it.  You're  all  in. 
We'll  see  that  it's  delivered.  Let's  have  it!"  insisted 
Tip,  forcing  the  youngster  back  again. 

"Got  to  d'liver  it  myself.  Lem'me  go,  please! 
I'm  all  right!"  And  the  youngster  struggled  to  his 
feet  in  spite  of  Tip,  laced  his  shoes,  and  slipped  into  his 
coat. 

Still  pale  and  weak,  and  trembling  with  a  severe 
chill,  but  bent  on  delivering  his  message  without  further 
delay,  he  reached  for  his  cap,  wrenched  away  from  the 
hands  that  sought  to  detain  him  and  made  for  the 
street. 

Tip  bounded  up,  intercepted  him  at  the  door  and 
hauled  him  back. 

"You're  a  plucky  little  beggar,  —  a  good,  game 
kid!"  chided  Tip,  "but  you  don't  go  out  into  that 
storm  till  it  lets  up  a  bit  and  you're  dried  out  and  rested 
up." 

"Got  to  d'liver  my  message!  Lem'me  go,  mister, 
please!  I'll  get  fired!"  pleaded  the  youngster  through 
his  chattering  teeth. 

"Nothing  doing,  and  you  won't  get  fired  either,  I'll 


80  Rummyniscences 

see  that  you  don't.  Let  me  have  your  message," 
insisted  Tip. 

No.  2074  reluctantly  surrendered  his  message  book 
to  Tip. 

"  What 's  your  name,  Kiddo,  and  where  do  you  live?  " 
queried  the  latter. 

"Michael  O'Kane,  sir.  No.  —  East  67th  Street," 
replied  No.  2074. 

Tip  noted  down  his  name  and  address.  "I'm  going 
to  write  the  company  a  letter  advising  them  what  a 
plucky  and  faithful  employee  they  have  in  the  youngster 
and  we'll  all  sign  it.  What  do  you  say?"  announced 
Tip. 

"Sure,"  chorused  the  bunch,  "make  it  good  and 
strong  and  give  the  kid  a  good  boost." 

"All  right.  Get  me  some  writing  paper,  Joe,  and 
then  'phone  for  another  messenger." 

"Can't  get  a  messenger  boy  inside  of  an  hour,"  an- 
nounced big  Joe,  returning  from  the  'phone  presently. 
"Boys  all  out  and  delayed  by  the  storm,"  he 
added. 

"Well,  we've  got  to  get  it  delivered,"  declared  Tip. 
"Let's  have  a  look  at  that  book.  Where  does  the  tele- 
gram go  to?" 

"Union  League  Club,"  vouchsafed  No.  2074,  "I'm 
all  right  now,  please." 


Western  Union  No.  2074  81 

"  Why,  that's  only  half  a  dozen  blocks  away.  I'll 
deliver  it  myself,"  announced  Tip,  reaching  for  his 
coat. 

"Hold  on,  Tip!"  remonstrated  Buck.  "You  re- 
semble a  messenger  boy  about  as  much  as  you  do  a 
chorus  doll!  Let  the  Shrimp  deliver  it." 

"Meaning  I  resemble  either,  or  both?"  queried  the 
Shrimp,  resentfully. 

"Nonsense!"  laughed  Buck,  "but  you  are  slight 
and  boyish  looking,  and  can  get  away  with  it!  How 
about  you?" 

"Sure,  I'm  game!"  agreed  the  Shrimp.  "Might 
pick  up  a  quarter,  too!  Never  can  tell!" 

Whereupon  they  clapped  No.  2074 's  messenger  cap 
on  the  Shrimp,  bundled  him  into  an  old  coat  belonging 
to  the  bootblack,  turned  up  his  coat  collar  to  conceal 
his  silk  shirt  and  scarf,  and  surveyed  him  with  much 
glee,  declaring  unanimously  and  hilariously  that  he 
looked  like  "a  typical  young  Mercury,  and  a  particu- 
larly fresh  one  at  that!" 

"On  your  way,  now,  Swifty,  and  hurry  back!" 
laughed  Tip,  while  No.  2074  gazed  on  bewildered  and 
with  much  misgiving. 

"  Gim'me  a  ciggy ! "  mimicked  the  Shrimp,  "  and  I'm 
off.  Au  revoir!"  to  the  disgust  of  Micky,  whose  vo- 
cabulary was  innocent  of  all  "  parly voo"  and  whose 


82  Rummyniscences 

Western  Union  ethics  were  scandalized  by  such  lingo 
coming  from  under  his  own  cap. 

II. 

For  the  next  half  hour  Micky  led  the  life  of  Reilly. 
He  was  fed  up  on  broth  and  toast,  fussed  over,  and 
forced  to  accept  a  two  dollar  note  that  the  Duke  thrust 
into  his  fist. 

Another  quarter  of  an  hour  elapsed  and  Micky  was 
beginning  to  entertain  misgivings  about  the  return  of 
"dat  udder  swell  wid  me  lid  an'  book,"  when  the  Shrimp 
re-appeared,  all  wet  and  aglow,  divested  himself  of  his 
make-up  and  sipped  the  hot  toddy  that  big  Joe  placed 
before  him,  while  the  others  sat  back  expectantly. 

"Well!"  inquired  Buck,  "did  you  get  the  quarter?" 

"Nope,  but  I  copped  a  buck!"  rejoined  the  Shrimp 
complacently,  flashing  a  new  dollar  bill,  which  he  there- 
upon bestowed  on  the  bewildered  Micky,  whose  eyes 
shone  in  wide  open  amazement. 

"A  dollar  tip,  eh!  What  for? "  again  queried  Buck, 
while  the  Shrimp  continued  to  sip  his  toddy  in  aggra- 
vating silence. 

"Come,  shoot  us  the  story!  What  happened?" 
demanded  Tip. 

"Oh,  nothing  much,"  vouchsafed  the  Shrimp,  as  he 
drained  his  goblet. 


Western  Union  No.  2074  83 

"  I  made  the  Union  League  and  blew  up  to  the  desk. 
The  clerk  took  the  telegram  and  picked  up  the  'phone. 
'Telegram  for  you,  sir,'  he  said.  Then,  turning  to  me, 
he  continued,  'They  want  the  messenger  to  take  it  up. 
May  want  to  send  an  answer.  Room  403,  fourth  floor 
front.' 

"So  up  I  go  to  403.  Five  gentlemen  sitting  around 
a  table,  covered  with  papers.  Box  of  cigars,  high-balls, 
siphons  and  all  that.  Swell  bunch  in  evening  clothes. 
Looked  like  big  bugs.  Old  buck,  bald  and  red-faced, 
but  very  distinguished  looking,  opened  the  telegram 
and  read  it  to  the  rest. 

"  'That  clinches  the  deal,'  he  says.  'Turner  has 
the  proxies  and  everything  is  settled.  Won't  be  an- 
nounced until  Friday  morning.  That  gives  us  all  day 
tomorrow  to  work  in.'  Then  he  turned  to  a  quiet- 
looking  slim  chap  who  was  poring  over  their  dope  sheets, 
and  says,  'Well,  Art,  it's  up  to  you  now!  You'll  have 
to  go  some  tomorrow.  You'll  have  the  time  of  your 
life  squeezing  the  shorts.  Step  on  her,  boy!  Tear 
the  throttle  wide  open!  Nothing  to  it  now  but  to  run 
her  up  and  get  out  near  the  top.  We're  good  for  at 
least  twenty,  and  possibly  thirty  points,  or  I  miss  my 


guess 


"And  then  they  all  fell  to  palavering  and  made  a  lot 
of  calculations,  and  talked  in  figures  that  made  my  head 


84  Rummyniscences 

swim.  Millions !  Talk  of  a  big  pool  that  the  slim  chap 
was  to  operate.  I  thought  at  first  that  they  were  plan- 
ning to  build  a  luxurious  swimming  pool  at  some  swell 
resort,  till  I  got  next  to  their  talk,  and  tumbled  to  the 
fact  that  it  was  a  big  stock  deal  they  had  framed  and 
were  ready  to  put  over.  They  paid  no  attention  to  me 
whatever,  they  were  so  steamed  up  over  it  all. 

"  Finally  they  decided  not  to  send  an  answer  by  wire, 
but  to  call  up  some  party  in  Detroit  on  the  long  distance 
'phone  instead.  So  the  'big  squeeze'  hands  me  a  dollar 
bill,  because  they  had  kept  me  waiting  for  nothing  and 
sent  me  on  my  way.  That's  all!  Here's  your  book, 
Micky,  all  signed  up  and  everything!" 

"That's  all!  What's  all?"  echoed  Tip,  his  eyes 
ablaze  and  his  features  tense  with  excitement.  "  What 
are  they  going  to  shoot?  What  —  what  did  they  say 
they'd  shoot  up  twenty  or  thirty  points?" 

"Search  me,"  replied  the  Shrimp,  "it  was  all  over 
my  head." 

"But  didn't  they  mention  the  name  of  the  stock?" 
persisted  Tip.  "What  stock  is  the  pool  going  to  run 
up,  man?  Gee,  what  a  chance  to  get  aboard  for  a  kill- 
ing! What  stock  are  they  going  to  ride?" 

" Didn't  get  it,"  replied  the  Shrimp.  "  Stock  market 
don't  interest  me.  Too  rich  for  my  blood.  Dollar 
limit  poker  is  my  top  speed." 


Western  Union  No.  2074  85 

"Well,  what  were  they  talking  about,  you  poor 
simp?  Steel,  oils,  railroads  or  what?"  demanded  Tip, 
keenly  disappointed. 

"None  of  them.  It  was  automobiles.  Several 
makes.  Some  kind  of  amalgamation,  with  an  exchange 
of  stock,  two  for  one,  or  one  for  two,  or  three,  or  some- 
thing!" replied  the  Shrimp  triumphantly. 

"And  a  long  distance  'phone  to  Detroit  tonight," 
mused  Tip.  "Who  was  the  big  bug,  I  wonder?  Say, 
let  me  see  that  message  book.  He  signed  for  the  tele- 
gram, didn't  he?  Can't  make  out  his  scrawl.  Looks 
like  Curto,  no  —  Carto,  —  Carter  —  that's  it !  L.  M- 
Carter.  Sure  enough!  Dollars  to  doughnuts  he's 
phoning  Griggs,  President  of  the  Eclipse  Motor  Co.,  at 
Detroit.  I've  got  it!  The  big  Universal  Motor 
merger !  Rumored  some  time  ago,  but  never  confirmed, 
—  in  fact  officially  denied  at  the  time.  Going  to  put  it 
over,  now,  on  the  Q.  T.  Oh,  boy!  What  a  chance  to 
clean  up,  tomorrow!" 

Tip,  as  you  can  readily  perceive,  was  an  ardent 
member  of  the  tape-bucking  fraternity,  and  one  who 
had  encountered  about  the  average  degree  of  success  in 
his  speculations  —  that  is  to  say,  his  endeavors  to  out- 
guess the  manipulators  had  been  quite  disastrous  and 
his  bank  roll  had  been  correspondingly  depleted. 

"Boys!"  declared  Tip,  "Tomorrow  I'll  shoot  the 


86  Rummyniscences 

works  on  Universal  Motors,  sink  or  swim,  and  if  I  clean 
up  and  get  back  what  the  market  owes  me,  'good-bye 
and  fare-thee-well  for  ever'  to  Wall  Street.  They'll 
never  hook  me  again!  And  that  goes !" 

"For  a  while,"  commented  the  Shrimp  dryly. 

"Yes,  the  lambs  always  come  back  to  the  fold,  to 
be  shorn  again  eventually,"  added  Cliff. 

"Greatest  sucker's  game  on  the  list,"  muttered 
Buck.  "Got  the  shell  game  backed  off  the  boards." 

"Right,"  acquiesced  the  Duke,  "they  got  me  too, 
Buck." 

Whereupon  there  ensued  an  animated  discussion  on 
the  evils  of  speculating  and  its  hazards,  with  the  usual 
recital  of  big  clean-ups,  of  shoe-strings  run  into  fortunes. 

"Chance  of  a  life  time!"  declared  Tip.  "Red-hot 
information  right  off  the  griddle.  Let's  all  get  aboard 
for  a  little,  anyhow.  We'd  never  forgive  ourselves  for 
being  asleep  at  the  switch,  after  Universal  Motors  has 
had  its  big  spurt.  Now  here's  my  dope.  We're  none  of 
us  big  leaguers,  but  we  can  club  together  and  take  a 
little  flyer,  anyhow. 

"There  are  five  of  us.  Let's  buy  five  hundred 
shares,  a  hundred  shares  apiece,  on  a  ten-point  margin. 
I'm  going  to  buy  more  on  my  own  account.  We'll 
buy,  say,  two  hundred  shares  right  at  the  opening  of  the 
market,  and  then  another  hundred  shares  on  each  half 


Western  Union  No.  2074  87 

point  up  or  down,  according  to  how  the  market  goes. 
We'll  put  a  two-point  'stop-loss'  order  on  each  purchase 
and  let  her  ride.  The  pool  will,  of  course,  take  all  the 
stock  offered,  accumulating  it  for  the  rise,  in  advance 
of  the  public's  scramble  for  it  when  the  merger  is 
announced,  —  even  if  our  dope  goes  all  wrong,  we  can't 
lose  more  than  a  couple  of  hundred  dollars  apiece,  plus 
commissions,  and  we  stand  to  clean  up  big.  What  do 
you  say?" 

And  they  said — "Yes."  What  bunch  of  real 
sports  ever  knowingly  would  pass  up  a  chance  to  cop  on 
real  inside  dope? 

III. 

And  therein  lay  the  explanation  of  the  "Widdy 
O'Kane's  Mirricle,"  which  the  Widdy  with  charac- 
teristic Celtic  animation,  recounted  to  the  other  ladies 
of  her  "tiniment,"  a  few  days  later,  as  follows: 

"Shure,  an'  late  last  night,"  she  asserted,  "bid  time 
it  were,  an'  me  all  alone,  an'  Mickey  still  out  wid  thini 
Casey  byes,  —  the  Divil  fly  away  wid  thim  —  whin 
wan  o'  thim  tackchees  rolled  up  to  the  tiniment,  which 
Mrs.  Murphy  seen  wid  her  own  eyes,  an'  up  to  me  flat 
marches  five  illigant  gintlement,  full  o'  licker  an'  divil- 
ment,  an'  says  wan  to  me,  —  the  big  tall  wan,  wid  the 
dimint  pin,  —  says  he  to  me,  'Are  you  Mrs.  O'Kane?' 


88  Rummyniscences 

an*  I  says  'I  am  that.'  'The  mither  o'  Mickey  O'Kane, 
the  missinger  bye?'  he  asks,  an'  I  says,  'The  very 
same.'  ' 

"  Wid  that  a  runt  of  a  doode,  which  dey  called  the 
imp,  which  he  was,  up's  on'  his  toes  an'  trows  his  arms 
'round  me  neck  an'  shmacks  me  right  shquare  on  me 
mouth,  an'  be  .all  the  saints,  before  I  got  over  me  sur- 
prise, they  all  does  that  very  same,  an'  whin  I  grabs 
the  broom  to  whack  thim  all  over  their  drunken  heads, 
an'  clear  thim  out,  the  swellest  wan,  —  the  wan  they 
called  the  Juke,  —  grabs  the  broom  out  o'  me  hand, 
sticks  five  bran'  new  wan  hundred  dollar  bills  in  me 
fist  an'  says  it's  for  the  bist  missinger  bye  in  Noo  York 
an'  his  rale  Irish  mother,  which  I  am,  glory  be  to  the 
Saints.  An'  thin  they  runs  off  laffin,  an'  me  sthruck 
dumm  like  a  ijiot,  an'  niver  a  'thank  ye' or  a  blessin' 
could  I  give  them  for  their  money  an'  their  impidence." 


SMRO 


VERY  GOOD,  EDDIE! 

In  which  Finkel  makes  a  "little  mistake"  and  Eddie 
acquires  a  fine  hang-over  and  a  new  job. 


Very  Good,  Eddie! 

I. 

TT^DDIE,  a  bit  late,  but  characteristically  unper- 
"^"^  turbed,  gave  his  tie  a  final  pat,  carefully  stroked 
down  the  sparse  hairs  that  stood  between  him  and  a 
bald  pate,  slipped  into  his  dinner  coat,  surveyed  him- 
self deliberately  and  critically  in  his  mirror,  and  com- 
placently lighted  a  cigarette. 

"And  another  little  drink  won't  do  any  harm"  he 
hummed,  his  waiting  compatriots  in  mind,  as  he  saun- 
tered over  to  the  'phone  and  ordered  a  taxi. 

From  all  of  which  you  may  rightly  infer  that  neither 
lateness  nor  any  other  trifle  could  ruffle  Eddie. 

Alighting  at  Martin's,  he  checked  his  coat,  hat  and 
stick,  and  with  his  head  stiffly  erect,  his  sphinx-like 
physiognomy  as  inexpressive  as  his  expanse  of  white 
shirt  front,  he  meandered  dignifiedly  among  the  tables, 
seeking  his  friends. 

91 


92  Rummyniscences 

The  hum  and  clatter  that  pervaded  the  well-filled 
dining-room  failed  to  drown  a  particularly  domineering 
and  rasping  voice.  As  Eddie  turned  resentfully  towards 
its  source,  he  was  surprised  to  find  the  loud  indi- 
vidual looking  directly  at  him  and  beckoning  him 
excitedly. 

The  voice  and  the  gesticulation  emanated  from  a 
portly,  flushed  and  evidently  irritated  gentleman,  of  a 
decidedly  Hebraic  cast  of  countenance,  characteristic 
of  a  common  metropolitan  type  of  opulence  and  ill- 
breeding. 

As  Eddie  surveyed  him,  the  excited  gestures  of  the 
flamboyant  gentleman  became  more  aggravated.  He 
crooked  his  forefinger  at  Eddie,  beckoning  him  over 
insistently.  Somewhat  curious,  and  dominated  by  the 
other's  insistence,  Eddie,  in  spite  of  his  instinctive  dis- 
like, sauntered  over.  The  florid  guest  seized  him  by 
the  sleeve,  maintained  his  grip  and  fairly  shouted:  — 

"Say,  what's  the  matter?  Don't  we  get  no  service? 
This  is  out-ra-gee-ous !  Rotten  service!  You  know 
me?  No!  I'm  Mr.  Finkel.  Finkel,  of  Goldberg  and 
Finkel.  Get  busy!  Open  that  wine  what  that  fool 
waiter  leaves  here  and  then  runs  off.  Maybe  he  thinks 
we  want  to  carry  it  home  with  us  in  that  pail.  Such 
service!  You  head  waiters  shouldn't  hire  such  stupids, 
Stick  around  and  give  us  a  little  attention  —  I'm  a 


Very  Good,  Eddie!  93 

reggelar  feller  and  this  is  a  reggelar  party.  Now  get 
busy!" 

"Sir,"  said  Eddie  quietly  and  without  a  flush  or 
change  of  expression. 

"Get  busy!"  continued  Finkel — "Open  up  that 
wine.  Look,  he  stands  like  a  dummy!  Such  service! 
Get  a  move  on!" 

"Yes,  Sir,"  said  Eddie  quietly, picking  up  a  napkin 
from  the  adjoining  table  and  reaching  for  the  bottle  of 
champagne.  Wrapping  the  napkin  about  it  in  orthodox 
fashion  and  extracting  the  cork  with  skill  that  would 
have  done  credit  to  any  head  waiter,  he  calmly  in- 
quired —  " Shall  I  pour  it,  Sir?" 

"Sure,  pour  it!"  growled  Finkel.  "I  should  pour 
it  myself,  maybe!  Such  service!" 

"Yes,  Sir,"  said  Eddie  demurely, and  throwing  the 
napkin  over  his  arm,  he  poured  the  first  installment  of 
bubbles  into  Finkel's  glass,  quietly  made  the  round  of 
the  table,  and  after  carefully  filling  each  glass,  placed 
the  bottle  in  front  of  Finkel.  Bowing  dignifiedly,  he 
quietly  asked,  "Anything  else,  Sir?"  and  receiving 
only  a  grunt  in  reply,  and  at  the  same  time  discerning 
his  own  party  only  a  few  tables  away,  gaping  at  him  in 
open-mouthed  amazement,  he  bowed  again  and  with- 
drew. 

Finkel's  friends  observed  with  considerable  surprise 


94  Rummyniscences 

the  head  waiter  who  had  just  served  them,  seat  himself 
familiarly  at  another  table.  The  burst  of  hilarious 
laughter  that  greeted  Eddie's  recital  caused  Finkel 
himself  to  turn  and  look  over  curiously.  His  look  of 
astonishment  turned  to  bewilderment.  There  followed 
at  his  table  a  converging  of  heads  and  much  animated 
whispering  and  Hebraic  calisthenics.  Eventually  the 
head  waiter,  the  genuine  brand  in  this  instance,  was 
dispatched  to  Eddie's  table,  and  as  duly  accredited 
envoy,  delivered  this  message  to  Eddie. 

"The  gentleman  at  the  other  table  is  quite  sorry, sir! 
He  wishes  to  send  his  apologies.  He  says  he  made  a 
little  mistake,  sir." 

"A  little  mistake!"  echoed  Eddie— "Oh,  well! 
Let  it  go  at  that.  Tell  him  to  forget  it.  But  say,  you 
might  add  that  a  real  'regular  feller'  as  he  declared  him- 
self to  be,  might  realize  that  the  drinks  are  on  himself. 
And  he  wouldn't  be  making  another  'little  mistake' 
either, "  he  concluded,  somewhat  malevolently. 

Which  message,  or  the  substance  thereof,  the  head- 
waiter  evidently  imparted  to  Finkel,  for  there  followed 
another  converging  of  heads  and  another  animated  con- 
clave. In  due  time  a  head  waiter  deposited  a  little 
pailful  alongside  of  Eddie  with  Finkel's  compliments. 

Whereupon  Eddie,  entirely  mollified,  presently 
returned  the  compliment.  All  of  which  furnished  a 


Very  Good,  Eddie!  95 

good  start  for  a  very  hilarious  and  extremely  moist 
bubble-fest  with  the  ultimate  result  that  towards  dawn, 
his  taxi  and  the  milk-wagon  both  made  simultaneous 
delivery  at  Eddie's  abode. 

II. 

While  Eddie  and  his  companions  were  consuming 
Finkel's  and  subsequent  quarts,  the  latter  ambled  over 
to  greet  old  Carleton,  a  power  in  the  financial  world. 

Carleton  had  evidently  observed  Finkel's  head- 
waiter  fiasco,  for  he  was  looking  over  at  Finkel  and  his 
party,  apparently  quite  amused. 

"What  kind  of  a  cheap  burlesque  stunt  did  that 
ignoramus  pull  on  you?"  inquired  Carleton  after 
acknowledging  Finkel's  greeting. 

" That  ignor-nor-mus ! "  stammered  Finkel.  "Say, 
he  ain't  no  fool.  That's  a  smart  feller.  He  stuck  me 
for  a  quart!"  And  Finkel  recounted  the  episode  to  old 
Carleton,  to  the  latter's  keen  delectation. 

"Yes,  sir!"  That's  a  smart  feller!"  concluded 
Finkel. 

"Smart  feller  nothing!"  growled  Carleton.  "He's 
a  clerk  in  our  bond  department  and  I  guess  he's  a  pretty 
dissolute  character.  I'll  have  him  investigated." 

"A  clerk!"  ejaculated  Finkel  incredulously.  "A 
clerk!  Such  a  smart  feller!  Say,  he  should  be  a 


96  Rummyniscences 

salesman,  and  I  guess  I  know  a  good  salesman  when  I 
see  one.  That's  a  smart  feller!  He  could  sell  any- 
thing !  Phonographs,  he  could  sell  even  to  deaf-mutes, 
—  and  stocks  and  securities,  —  say,  I  bet  he  could  sell 
like  hot-cakes  to  the  schlemils  he  schmooses  around 
with.  Send  him  around  and  I'll  give  him  some  bisness, 
That's  a  smart  feller!  He  stuck  me  fair." 

"Nonsense,"  rejoined  old  Carleton,  "I'll  see  that 
one  of  our  regular  bond  salesmen  calls  on  you. " 

"Nix  on  those  wind-bags!"  protested  Finkel.  "I 
got  time  to  talk  only  to  smart  people,  not  noosances!" 

III. 

Later  in  the  morning  when  Eddie,  afflicted  with  both 
a  fine  young  hang-over  and  a  pronounced  grouch, 
eventually  put  in  a  belated  appearance  at  the  office 
and  listlessly  delved  into  the  stack  of  bonds  and  other 
securities  that  had  accumulated  on  his  desk,  Chubby 
pussy-footed  alongside  and  in  an  awed  whisper  greeted 
him  thusly: 

"Gee,  Mr.  Reynolds,  the  boss  wants  you  to  come 
right  to  his  office.  He's  asked  for  you  three  times,  and 
he  looks  madder'n  thunder!" 

"Here's  where  I  get  mine  and  it's  coming  to  me 
too!"  grunted  Eddie.  "Damn  Martin's,  and  his  wine 
and  that  accursed  Finkel  that  started  it  all!  Well, 


Very  Good,  Eddie!  97 

here's  where  I  beard  the  old  lion  in  his  den!"  he 
muttered,  as  he  adjusted  his  tie,  squared  back  his 
shoulders,  and  marched  into  the  much  dreaded  sanctum 
sanctorum  of  old  Carleton,  human  icicle  and  president 
of  the  Trust  Company. 

The  latter  swung  'round  in  his  chair,  and  regarded 
Eddie  sternly.  His  bullet  head  appeared  harder,  his 
firm  jaw  squarer  than  ever,  and  his  cold,  penetrating 
eyes  pierced  Eddie  searchingly. 

But,  as  you  have  already  learned,  Eddie  was  not 
easily  disconcerted. 

"You  sent  for  me,  sir,"  he  said,  quietly. 

"Young  man,"  replied  old  Carleton  coldly  and 
ominously,  "You  are  quite  late  this  morning." 

"I'm  sorry,  sir!"    replied  Eddie. 

"Well,  I  have  not  been  informed  of  any  tie-up  on 
the  Subway  or  the  surface  lines,"  proceeded  old  Carle- 
ton,  pausing  and  eyeing  Eddie  even  more  coldly. 

"No,  sir!  I'm  sorry,  but  I  overslept!"  replied 
Eddie  with  characteristic  brevity  and  candor. 

"I  rather  expected  a  well  concocted  excuse,"  pro- 
ceeded his  inquisitor.  "However,  it  would  have 
availed  you  little  for  I  happen  to  know  the  truth.  You 
dined  at  Martin's  last  night. " 

"Yes,  sir!"  answered  Eddie,  somewhat  taken  aback. 

"Well,  young  man,  so  did  I.  —  Mrs.  Carleton  and 


98  Rummyniscences 

I,  and  some  guests,"  he  added,  frowning  severely. 
"Our  table  adjoined  the  one  at  which  you  cut  up  your 
capers,  but  a  column  served  to  screen  me  and  to  protect 
your  blissful  ignorance.  You  make  an  excellent  head 
waiter,  and  open  wine  splendidly,  —  but  we  have  no 
room  in  our  accounting  department  for  young  men  who 
dissipate  and  demean  themselves.  Nor  can  we  entrust 
the  handling  of  our  securities  to  a  young  man  slick 
enough  to  wheedle  a  bottle  of  wine  out  of  that  close- 
fisted  and  slippery  stock-manipulator,  Finkel.  I  will 
have  to  request  you  to  apply  your  nerve  and  entertain- 
ing ability  elsewhere. 

Kindly  put  your  affairs  in  shape  and  turn  them  over 
to  Mr.  Scroggs.  You  need  not  report  at  your  desk 
tomorrow.  Your  services  there  are  no  longer  required, " 
concluded  the  Icicle  coldly,  and  with  a  finality  that 
brooked  no  further  argument  or  discussion. 

Eddie  flushed,  his  eyes  flashed  and  his  lips  half 
parted  to  voice  his  indignation,  but  closed  again  firmly. 
Without  deigning  a  reply,  he  drew  himself  up  to  his  full 
height,  turned  on  his  heel,  and  dignifiedly  withdrew. 

"One  moment!"  interrupted  old  Carleton,  just  as 
Eddie  reached  the  door.  "Just  one  word  more,  young 

man ! In  the  morning  you  will  report  to  Mr. 

Burney,  manager  of  our  bond  sales  department,  who 
has  been  instructed  to  install  you  as  assistant  manager. 


Very  Good,  Eddie!  99 

"The  sales-end  of  the  business  will  afford  ample 
opportunity  for  the  exercise  of  your  nerve  and  enter- 
taining proclivities,  and  the  increase  in  salary  will  serve 
to  make  it  unnecessary  for  you  to  assume  head  waiter- 
ships  after  hours. 

"That  will  be  all, — this  morning!"  old  Carleton  con- 
cluded, with  just  the  trace  of  a  twinkle  in  his  eye. 


'TWIXT  TWO  AND  DAWN 

Being  the  tale  of  two  belated  prowlers,  a  can  of  milk 
and  a  cluster  of  sandwiches  and  hoboes. 


Twixt  Two  and  Dawn. 

I. 

NE  balmy  summer  night,  well  on  towards  dawn,  as 
Buck  and  the  Shrimp  wandered  aimlessly  down 
Broadway,  after  assisting  in  "blowing  out  the  lights" 
in  several  of  their  favorite  haunts,  they  were  confronted 
with  a  spectacle  that  caused  them  to  pause  in  amaze- 
ment. 

There,  right  on  Broadway,  in  front  of  an  all-night 
lunchroom  near  Times  Square,  stood  a  milk-can, 
glistening  brazenly  and  defiantly  in  the  moonlight,  an 
affront  to  King  Alcohol  and  all  his  cohorts,  a  challenge, 
hurled  in  the  heart  of  his  domain. 

And  as  they  paused  to  survey  resentfully  this  symbol 
of  abstinence,  it  came  to  pass  that  Buck,  in  retaliation 
for  a  particularly  ill-timed  and  goading  jest,  gave  the 

Shrimp  a  playful  shove  that  sent  him  sprawling  against 

103 


104  Rummy  niscences 

the  offending  can,  toppling  it  clatteringly  into  the 
gutter,  where  it  gyrated  about  in  humbled  agony,  while 
its  life  blood  in  the  shape  of  rich,  white  milk,  overflowed 
the  asphalt.  All  of  which  these  two  worshippers  of 
Bacchus  contemplated  with  much  amusement  and 
satisfaction. 

"Behold!"  commented  the  Shrimp  solemnly,  recov- 
ering his  sea-legs,  and  striking  an  oratorical  attitude, 
with  one  eye  cocked  at  the  humbled  can  —  "  Behold  the 
Great  White  Way,  Buck!  Oft'  have  I  heard  this  big 
alley  so  designated,  but  never  before  have  I  seen  it 
vested  in  its  white  robes  of  pristine  purity.  It  strikes 
me—" 

And  just  then  it  did,  in  the  shape  of  an  open-handed 
wallop  behind  the  ear,  delivered  by  the  irate  proprietor 
of  the  lunchroom,  who,  hearing  the  clatter,  rushed  out, 
pounced  on  the  Shrimp,  and  seized  him  by  the  collar. 

"Let  go  of  him!"  interposed  Buck,  drawing  him- 
self up  threateningly  to  his  full  six  foot  one,  "Just  hold 
your  horses  a  minute!  It  was  an  accident,  that's  all, 
and  we'll  pay  you  for  your  d — d  milk. " 

"  You  bet  your  life  you  will ! "  replied  the  lunch  man 
belligerently,  as  he  observed  an  officer  approaching,  and 
a  few  belated  prowlers  and  regulars  gathering  around. 

"Say,  officer,  this  runt  kicked  over  my  can  of  milk 
and  this  big  guy's  giving  me  an  argument  and  I'm  in  a 


'Twixt  Two  and  Dawn  105 

fine  pickle  with  no  cream  for  the  morning  trade.  Spilt 
my  milk  just  for  the  h — 1  of  it.  Bonehead,  rah!  rah 
stuff!  Lock  'em  up!  I'll  teach  'em  something  they 
don't  learn  in  no  collidge!" 

"Case  of  pay  up  or  lock-up!"  commented  the 
officer  brusquely. 

"Get  inside,  you  three,  and  all  you  long-necks  get- 
ting ear-fulls,  beat  it!  Move  on,  all  of  you!"  com- 
manded the  blue-coat. 

II. 

Inside  the  lunchroom,  which  was  empty  save  for  the 
proprietor's  handy  man  and  chief  cook  and  bottle 
washer,  the  officer,  addressing  Buck  and  the  Shrimp, 
inquired :  — 

"Well,  how  about  it?  Which  is  it,  pay  up  or  a  ride 
in  the  wagon?" 

"We  told  him  we'd  pay  him,  but  he  wont  listen 
and  keep  his  temper.  He — 

"All  right,  what's  the  damage?"  interrupted  the 
blue-coated  Solon,  turning  to  the  proprietor  and  evi- 
dently not  over  anxious  to  make  the  arrest  and  appear 
in  court  in  the  morning. 

"Well, "  replied  the  latter  quieting  down  at  the  pros- 
pect of  a  financial  settlement,  "Well,  the  milk  cost  me 
about  three  dollars,  but  I  can't  serve  no  milk  nor  no 


106  Rummy  niscences 

coffee  and  I  can't  get  another  can  in  time  for  my  break- 
fast trade." 

"Give  you  five  dollars  and  call  it  square,"  replied 
Buck. 

"  Fork  it  over  'n  I'm  shut ! "  answered  the  lunchman. 

Buck  peeled  off  a  five  dollar  note  and  passed  it  to 
him. 

"About  a  third  still  left  in  the  can,  Boss," 
announced  the  handy  man,  who  had  been  outside  flush- 
ing the  street  to  clean  up  the  mess. 

"Good  enough,  that'll  help  some!"  remarked  the 
proprietor,  his  good  nature  recovered  and  actually 
smiling  now. 

About  that  time,  Buck's  brain,  stimulated  by  nu- 
merous potions  and  eased  by  a  sense  of  relief  at  the 
amicable  termination  of  the  incident,  began  to  function. 
His  eyes  gleamed,  the  corners  of  his  mouth  drew  slightly 
upwards  in  a  half  suppressed  smile,  as  he  quietly  re- 
marked :  — 

"Whoa!  Put  on  your  brakes!  You're  speeding! 
Just  a  minute!"  And  addressing  himself  to  the  officer, 
he  continued,  "Now  let's  get  this  right.  I've  paid  our 
friend  here  five  dollars,  two  dollars  more  than  he  asked 
for  all  the  milk  in  the  can.  Isn't  that  right?" 

"Guess  so,"  replied  the  representative  of  law  and 
order. 


'Twixt  Two  and  Dawn  107 

"Well,  then,"  continued  Buck,  "the  milk  belongs 
to  me,  doesn't  it?" 

"  Guess  that's  right, "  replied  the  officer,  somewhat 
reluctantly.  "What'che  got  up  yer  sleeve?  Want  to 
sell  it  back  to  him  again?  Don't  get  too  smart,  young 
feller !  Y'aint  out  of  this  yet ! " 

"  Oh,  not  at  all ! "  laughed  Buck.  "  On  the  contrary, 
I  propose,  with  your  consent,  having  paid  a  liberal  price 
for  it,  to  keep  the  milk  that's  left  in  the  can  for  myself. " 

"But  the  can  belongs  to  me!"  protested  the  pro- 
prietor, "that  is,  it  belongs  to  the  company  and  I'm 
responsible  for  it.  If  it's  your  milk,  it's  my  can,  and  I 
can't  wrap  it  up  in  no  paper  bundle  for  you,  to  carry  it 
away  in.  Anyhow — 

"All  right,"  agreed  Buck,  "It's  your  can.  What's 
the  can  worth?" 

"Don't  know!  Never  bought  one  in  my  life. 
What's  the  game?" 

"Give  you  three  dollars  for  the  can!"  suggested 
Buck,  "What  do  you  say?" 

"It's  a  go,  you're  on!"  replied  the  proprietor. 

"Well  then,  that's  settled,  officer!"  proceeded  Buck. 
"Both  the  milk  and  the  can  belong  to  me,  don't  they?'' 

"They're  yours,  all  right!"  growled  the  officer, 
whose  perplexity  was  shared  both  by  the  proprietor  and 
the  Shrimp. 


108  Rummyniscences 

"What's  the  big  idea,  Buck?  What's  coming  off? 
I  don't  get  you! "  queried  the  latter. 

"You'll  get  it  later,  just  leave  this  to  me,"  replied 
Buck. 

"Now  then,"  proceeded  Buck,  addressing  the  pro- 
prietor again.  "I'll  give  you  a  couple  of  dollars  if 
you'll  let  me  have  the  use  of  your  man  here  for  an  hour 
or  so.  Have  him  back  before  your  breakfast  trade 
comes  along  and  pay  him  besides.  What  do  you  say? 
Here's  the  two  spot!" 

"  Ye-yes ! "  replied  the  bewildered  proprietor  pocket- 
ing the  money  and  pinching  himself.  "Sell  ye  the 
whole  ranch  if  ye  say  so. " 

"No,  not  to-night, "  laughed  Buck,  "but  I'll  buy  all 
the  hot  coffee  in  that  urn.  You  can  make  another 
urnful.  What  will  you  take  for  it?  And  how  much 
for  all  those  sandwiches  piled  up  back  on  that 
shelf?" 

"Holy  Smoke!"  ejaculated  the  proprietor,  "How 
do  I  know?  I  sell  my  coffee  by  the  cup.  Say!"  turn- 
ing to  the  officer,  "What  d'ye  make  of  'em,  nuts  or 
millionaires?"  The  latter  shrugged  his  shoulders  non- 
commitally.  "Don't  know  who  they  are  or  what  they 
are,  but  there  ain't  goin'  to  be  any  more  monkey  shines, 
that's  what!" 

"You're    nutty    alright!"     asserted    the    Shrimp, 


'Twixt  Two  and  Dawn  109 

plucking  Buck  by  the  sleeve,  "  Let's  get  out  of  this  and 
cut  the  comedy." 

"Well,  how  much  for  the  coffee  and  sandwiches?" 
persisted  Buck,  ignoring  the  bewildered  Shrimp. 

The  proprietor  scratched  his  head.  "There's  about 
one  hundred  cups  in  that  urn,  but  she's  only  half  full. 
I  get  five  cents  a  cup.  The  sandwiches  is  ten  cents. 
There's  about  fifty  of  'em!" 

"All  right,"  continued  Buck,  "that's  about  two- 
fifty  for  the  coffee  and  five  for  the  sandwiches.  What 
do  you  say?" 

"Don't  you  want  some  pastry  and  cigars  too?" 
replied  the  proprietor  half  sarcastically  and  half  in 
earnest.  "Why  don't  ye  buy  the  whole  outfit?  What 
are  ye  tryin'  to  do?  Fit  up  an  opposition  lunch-stand 
with  me  own  stuff,  for  some  of  yer  swell  friends  what's 
broke?" 

"Not  at  all!"  laughed  Buck,  "but  the  cigars  are  a 
good  suggestion.  How  much  for  the  cigars?" 

"Nickel  a  piece.  They  comes  twenty -five  to  the 
box  'n  they're  O.  K.  even  for  you  and  your  swells," 
replied  the  proprietor  belligerently. 

"I'll  take  two  boxes.  That's  another  two-fifty. 
Give  you  ten  dollars  for  the  coffee,  sandwiches  and 
cigars  if  you  throw  in  enough  sugar  to  sweeten  the  coffee 
and  lend  me  half  a  dozen  cups.  Is  it  a  go?" 


110  Rummy  niscences 

"Sure,  anything  you  say!"  replied  the  proprietor 
in  a  daze,  as  Buck  tendered  him  the  money. 

"Now,  my  man,"  said  Buck,  turning  to  the  assis- 
tant, "you're  working  for  me  for  an  hour  or  so.  Here's 
a  dollar  for  you  as  a  starter.  Bring  in  that  can  with 
the  milk  that's  left  in  it,  pour  the  coffee  in  that  urn  into 
the  can.  Sweeten  it  up  with  some  sugar  and  wrap  up 
the  sandwiches  and  cigars,  do  you  understand?" 

"Sure,  Boss!"  replied  the  man-of -all-work,  touch- 
ing his  hat  and  stepping  out  with  alacrity  for  the  milk 
can. 

"Good,  hurry  up,  now!"  said  Buck.  "Everything 
all  right  and  fixed  up,  officer?" 

"Everything  and  everybody  except  the  judge  and 
the  jury, "  replied  the  latter  shrewdly. 

"Gee  whiz,  that's  so!"  laughed  Buck,  slipping  him 
a  five  spot  as  he  shook  his  hand.  "Much  obliged  for 
being  so  decent  about  it!" 

"  Aw,  that's  all  right.  I  ain't  locking  up  everybody. 
'Specially  gents  what's  good  sports.  Good  night!" 
and  the  officer  discreetly  withdrew. 

"Now,  Shrimp,"  said  Buck,  "hail  a  taxi,  while  we 
get  things  fixed  up.  We're  going  away  from  here. 
Never  mind !  Tell  you  all  about  it  in  the  taxi.  Go  out 
and  grab  one. " 

The  taxi  pulled  up  in  a  few  minutes.     Buck  and  the 


Twixt  Two  and  Dawn  111 

Shrimp  got  in.  The  helper  with  the  milk  can  and  his 
packages  settled  down  alongside  of  the  chauffeur. 
"Bryant  Park!"  said  Buck,  and  away  they  rolled  leav- 
ing the  proprietor  staring  after  them  open-mouthed. 

III. 

"Well,  I  give  it  up,  Buck!  What's  the  answer? 
If  you're  not  plumb  crazy,  you'll  have  to  show  me! 
Never  feed  you  any  of  those  star  cocktails  again.  That 
apple-jack  is  liquid  T.  N.  T. !  All  that  money  for  milk 
and  grub  and  not  a  drop  for  liquor!  You  ought  to  get 
your  head  examined!"  upbraided  the  Shrimp,  as  they 
rolled  along. 

"That's  all  right!"  replied  Buck.  "I  won  twice 
that  amount  at  poker  last  night.  We  were  in  for  it. 
Had  to  pay  for  the  milk  anyhow.  So  why  not  use  it? 
We're  going  to  feed  the  poor  birds  in  Bryant  Park. 
It's  time  we  did  a  little  uplift  work.  All  of  it  we've 
done  so  far  is  lifting  up  wine  glasses.  It'll  be  a  good 
lark  and  ease  our  consciences." 

And  so,  at  four  o'clock  on  this  warm  summer  morn- 
ing, our  taxi  pulled  up  at  the  curb  in  front  of  Bryant 
Park,  and  Tom  of  the  lunchroom  was  instructed  to 
quietly  set  up  the  can  full  of  hot  coffee,  and  the  sand- 
wiches, on  a  vacant  bench. 


112  Rummyniscences 

"As  soon  as  everything's  ready,  Tom,"  commanded 
Buck,  "wake  up  these  birds  and  invite  them  to  tea,  or 
coffee,  rather." 

And  Tom,  who  had  intermittently  been  a  hobo  him- 
self, wrandered  among  the  benches,  shook  each  hobo 
out  of  his  slumbers  and  whispered  a  few  magic  words 
in  his  ears,  whereat,  out  of  the  shadows,  there  presently 
gathered  about  the  "collation"  a  shuffling,  ragged,  non- 
descript collection  of  "down-and-out"  human  flotsam 
and  jetsam,  who  stood  off,  rubbing  their  bleary  eyes  in 
unbelief  and  amazement  at  this  novel  institution,  never 
before  encountered  in  any  of  their  open  air  dormitories. 

"Serve  the  gentlemen,  Tom!"  directed  Buck,  as  the 
Shrimp  returned  and  reported  that  no  officer  was  in 
sight. 

The  coffee  and  the  sandwiches  were  dispensed  to  the 
accompaniment  of  mumbled  thanks.  The  more  brazen 
ones,  in  the  meantime,  pressed  about  Buck  and  the 
Shrimp,  and  imparted  to  them  their  stereotyped  hard 
luck  stories  in  the  hope  of  extracting  some  silver  from 
their  benefactors. 

"Pass  the  cigars,  Tom!"  ordered  Buck,  whereat 
there  followed  a  concerted  and  converging  movement 
on  Tom. 

At  this  juncture,  a  powerful  grizzly  bearded  'bo 
pushed  through,  hurled  the  other  hoboes  aside,  and 


'Twixt  Two  and  Dawn 


113 


snatched  both  boxes  of  cigars  away  from  Tom  with  the 
announcement:  — 

"Dese  goes  to  me!  Dey're  good  fer  a  couple  o' 
bucks!  You'se  guys  clean  up  de  grub.  I'll  take  care 
o'  de  smokes!" 

A  howl  of  protest,  a  torrent  of  oaths,  a  rush  at  the 
big  hobo,  and  then  a  fine  free-for-all,  intermingled  with 
flying  fists  and  well-delivered  kicks.  Bedlam  was 
loose,  and  the  stillness  of  the  night  was  rent  by  the  dis- 
cordant cries  of  battle. 

"Come  on!"  exclaimed  Buck,  grasping  the  Shrimp 
by  the  arm,  "Some  battle!  No  more  up-lift  work  for 
me !  Let's  beat  it  before  the  cops  get  here  and  we  get 
grabbed  again.  I'm  through!  Come  on!" 

And  as  the  taxi  whirled  them  away,  the  chauffeur 
added  another  fragment  to  his  bizarre  mosaic  of  New 
York  nights. 


THE  STOIC  TAKES  THE  COUNT 

In  which  philosophy  is  floored  by  a  combination 
of  humidity,  corpulency  and  "general  cussedness. " 


The  Stoic  Takes  the  Count. 

I. 

nPHE  end  of  a  perfect  day  —  of  misery;  the  stickiest 
and  most  sultry  of  a  record  hot  spell;  a  day  of 
wilted  collars,  palm-leaf  fans,  rickies  and  fizzes ;  —  a 
lurid  day,  and  a  night  equally  oppressive. 

All  of  which  didn't  feaze  Cliff's  easy  going  disposi- 
tion. He  refused  to  swelter,  or  fuss,  or  swear,  or  liquor 
up,  or  gape  at  thermometers,  or  resort  to  the  orthodox 
procedures  commonly  observed  in  "sizzling"  weather. 

In  cool  pongee  silk  pajamas  and  straw  moccasins, 
he  lounged  away  the  day  in  his  bachelor  quarters. 
Later,  he  betook  himself  to  the  Athletic  Club.  Four 
fast  round  with  Professor  Dan,  a  mile  lope  around  the 
track,  some  toying  with  the  medicine  ball  and  the 
pulleys,  all  accompanied  by  a  profuse  "sweat,"  left 
his  system  bone-dry.  A  hot  shower  followed  by  a  cold 

one,  a  wallow  in  the  tank,  an  alcohol  rub,  and  Cliff, 

117 


118  Rummy  niscences 

refreshed,  comfortable  and  almost  cool,  taxied  to  his 
train  for  dinner  at  the  country  club. 

II. 

In  the  smoking  car  he  was  fortunate  enough  to 
secure  the  last  vacant  seat,  next  to  the  door.  He 
sprawled  out  comfortably,  and  surveyed  with  a  smile 
of  mixed  amusement  and  compassion  his  stewing  and 
steaming  fellow-passengers,  —  a  variegated  array  of 
shirt  waists  and  ill-temper. 

Following  the  fashion  prevailing  for  the  evening,  he 
tossed  his  straw  hat  in  the  rack,  hung  up  his  coat,  rolled 
up  his  sleeves,  lit  a  cigarette  and  presented  a  picture 
of  comfort  and  equanimity  quite  out  of  accord  with  the 
prevailing  atmosphere. 

The  train,  with  the  smoker  half  filled,  was  just  pull- 
ing out  when  a  gasping,  puffing,  snorting  volcano,  in 
the  shape  of  some  two  hundred  and  eighty  pounds  of 
red-faced  obesity,  reeking  perspiration  and  alcohol 
waddled  in  trailing  his  coat  with  one  hand  and  brandish- 
ing his  collar,  tie  and  hat  in  the  other.  Instinctively 
the  single  occupants  of  the  double  seats,  collectively 
expanded  and  broadened  out,  their  knees  and  elbows 
further  assisting  to  diminish  the  unoccupied  space 
alongside  of  them. 

Hippo  plowed  down  the  aisle,  and  not  finding  suffi- 


The  Stoic  Takes  the  Count          119 

cient  space  to  stow  his  bulk,  gave  vent  to  a  snort  of 
irritation  and  turned  back. 

"Bet  it'll  be  just  my  luck  to  have  'cutie'  pick  on 
me, "  thought  Cliff,  and  sure  enough,  old  Hippo  spotted 
him,  noted  his  cool  and  comfortable  appearance,  in 
marked  contrast  to  the  wilted  and  irritable  demeanor 
of  the  others,  and  with  a  grunt  of  relief  settled  into,  or 
rather  overflowed,  the  vacant  space  alongside  of  Cliff, 
compressing  him  to  a  condensed  edition  of  his  normal 
self. 

Cliff's  temperature  and  temperament  rose  simulta- 
neously. He  resented  the  glances  of  commiseration 
and  the  exasperating  smiles  directed  towards  him. 
Growing  more  uncomfortable  by  the  minute,  he  suffered 
the  grilling  with  Spartan  stoicism,  cursing  the  per- 
verseness  of  fate.  And  then,  after  the  train  had  rolled  a 
mile  or  so,  —  came  an  inspiration. 

Quietly  he  reached  up  to  the  open  window,  compres- 
sed the  patent  catch,  and  allowed  the  window  to  slide 
down  and  close.  He  was  conscious  of  old  Hippo's 
sidelong  glance  of  mixed  wonder  and  resentment,  but 
sat  quietly,  gazing  through  the  closed  window  at  the 
baked  landscape,  his  best  poker  face  to  the  fore. 

Old  Hippo  emitted  a  couple  of  snorts,  and  glared 
his  displeasure.  Cliff  reached  up  for  his  straw  hat,  put 
t  on  and  sat  down. 


120  Rummy  niscences 

Hippo,  taking  off  his  glasses,  bestowed  on  Cliff 
another  look  of  irritation.  Cliff  sat  imperturbable. 

Just  thirty  seconds  later  Cliff  rolled  down  his  sleeves 
and  buttoned  his  cuff  links.  Hippo  gave  a  double 
snort  and  quivered  perceptibly.  Pulse  90.  Tempera- 
ture 100  plus. 

And  then,  as  the  train  rolled  through  a  tunnel, 
Cliff,  his  eyes  contracted  and  gleaming  a  bit  wickedly, 
rose  deliberately,  reached  for  his  coat,  slipped  into  it, 
and  sank  quietly  into  his  seat  again. 

Old  Hippo  gasped  and  turned  livid.  Beads  of 
perspiration  trickled  down  his  fiery  red  bald  pate  and 
gathered  into  streamlets  that  traced  their  way  into  the 
wrinkles  of  his  jowls  and  ponderous  neck,  and  lost  them- 
selves in  the  nether  regions. 

Cliff  buttoned  up  his  coat.  A  minute  later  he 
turned  up  his  collar.  This  was  too  much  for  Hippo. 
He  squirmed  into  a  posture  that  enabled  him  to  face 
Cliff,  and  exploded:  — 

"For  the  love  of  Mike,  young  fellow!  You're  not 
freezing,  are  you?" 

"Oh,  no  sir!"  replied  Cliff  innocently,  "I'm  only  a 
bit  chilly." 

"Chilly?"  gasped  Hippo,  "Chilly?  Good  Lord, 
I'd  give  a  hundred  dollars  for  a  chill  right  now !  Chilly? 
Can  you  beat  it?  Say!  You,  you,  you're Phew!" 


The  Stoic  Takes  the  Count 

(more  snorts  and  more  streamlets)  "Chilly?  Well,  of 
all  the  nuts !  Guess  I'd  rather  sit  among  a  lot  of  gabby, 
powdered-up  women,  than  with  a  lunatic,  —  Phew!" 

And  with  a  succession  of  choking  gasps  and  snorts 
that  threatened  an  apoplectic  attack,  Old  Hippo  rose 
up  in  all  his  torrid  bulk,  glared  at  Cliff  with  an  excess 
of  wrath  that  found  no  further  expression  in  words,  and 
wallowed  out  of  the  smoking  car,  followed  by  many 
looks  of  amusement,  and  not  one  of  compassion  or 
regret. 

Cliff  however,  still  imperturbable  and  sphinx-like 
lit  a  cigarette,  rose  quietly,  re-deposited  his  hat  in  the 
rack,  divested  himself  of  his  coat,  rolled  up  his  sleeves, 
and  again  opened  the  window. 

III. 

The  personification  of  self-satisfaction,  he  serenely 
puffed  his  cigarette  and  complacently  mused  upon  the 
density  of  ordinary,  unsophisticated  mortals.  Where- 
upon Fate,  ironical  and  inexorable  Fate,  dealt  him  a 
back-hand  wallop. 

At  the  very  next  station,  a  filthy  and  ill-smelling 
flounder  fisherman,  as  corpulent  and  sweat-reeking  as 
the  departed  Hippo  himself,  deposited  his  basketful 
of  odoriferous  fish  in  the  rack  over  Cliff's  head  and 
squatted  down  beside  him! 


122  Rummy  niscences 

Cliff's    temperature   and   choler   rose   again. 


His 


equanimity  and  linen  wilted  simultaneously,  as  he 
broke  into  perspiration  and  muttered  profanity.  Even 
Cliff's  vaunted  self-control  had  its  limitations. 

And  then,  as  the  train  hit  a  sharp  curve  and  swerved 
violently,  the  basket  overhead  was  seized  with  a  spasm, 
rolled  out  of  the  rack,  and  showered  its  ill-smelling, 
scaly  and  slimy  assortment  of  flounders  and  torn-cods 
over  Cliff's  head  and  shoulders,  to  the  accompaniment 
of  a  howl  of  delight  from  the  other  passengers. 

"H — 1!"  roared  Cliff,  bounding  up  and  into  the 
aisle.  "Survival  of  the  fittest,  and  superiority  of  mind 
over  matter,  and  all  such  truck,  be  d d !  I'm  cured! " 


THE  MISOGAMIST 

Wherein  is  chronicled  how  Joe's  studies  in  juvenile 
psychology  resulted  in  a  complete  transformation  in  his 
personal  appearance,  his  philosophy  and  his  marital 
views. 


The  Misogamist. 

I. 

^I^HE  wild  strains  of  a  Hungarian  rhapsody  and  the 
animated  contortions  and  final  flourishes  of  the 
swarthy  director  of  the  Gypsy  Orchestra,  stilled  for  a 
moment  the  chatter  of  the  diners. 

Phoebe  and  "Kewpie,"  satiated  with  lobster  salad 
and  Biscuit  Tortoni,  surveyed  the  cosmopolitan  assem- 
blage with  critical  feminine  interest. 

The  Misogamist  and  the  Duke  sipped  their  cafe 
noir,  floated  with  brandy,  and  puffed  at  curiously 
twisted  black  cheroots,  supplied  by  the  waiter  in 
response  to  the  Duke's  request  for  a  couple  of  good 
smokes. 

They  were  regaling  themselves  thus  after  having 
attended  a  seance  of  the  Moonshine  Club,  the  mecca  of 

radicals  and  theorists,  who  flocked  from  the  lower  East 

125 


126  Rummy  niscences 

Side  and  Greenwich  Village  to  this  forum  of  all  the 
"isms,"  —  socialism,  materialism,  and  every  idealism, 
expounded  by  all  manner  of  optimists  and  pessimists. 

The  Shrimp,  after  attending  one  of  these  gatherings, 
had  expressed  the  opinion  that  this  society  should  have 
been  named  the  Squirrel  Club,  because  it  manifested 
such  an  interest  in  all  kinds  of  "nuts." 

To-night's  discourse,  "The  Crucible  of  Matri- 
mony, "  had  evoked  much  ardent  discussion. 

The  Misogamist,  in  particular,  held  decided  views 
on  this  subject,  which  were  not  at  all  shared  by  the 
Duke,  in  consequence  of  which  they  had  become  in- 
volved in  a  quite  heated  post-mortem  debate. 

"Oh,  of  course,  Duke!  Of  course!"  declared  the 
Misog.,  after  the  applause  that  greeted  the  conclusion 
of  the  rhapsody  had  subsided,  "  It  stands  to  reason  that 
no  sane  person  would  ever  dispute  the  fact  that  marriage 
is  an  essential  institution.  It  is  the  foundation  of  the 
family  and  the  community.  Of  society  and  civiliza- 
tion too,  for  that  matter.  It's  a  necessary  evil.  Every 
fool  knows  that  —  from  personal  experience.  I'm  not 
arguing  against  marriage  from  a  sociological  standpoint, 
but  only  from  an  individual  point  of  view.  I'm  really 
for  it,  —  for  others,  but  not  for  'yours  truly,'  —  least- 
wise not  in  this  mad  metropolis  or  in  any  other  real 
burg." 


The  Misogamist  127 

II. 

It  was  not  the  first  time  that  Joe  Steeples  had  de- 
clared himself  on  this  subject.  In  fact,  it  was  because 
of  his  frequently  avowed  aversion  to  matrimony  that 
his  cronies  had  dubbed  him  "the  Misogamist."  Upon 
consulting  his  dictionary,  he  accepted  this  sobriquet 
quite  complacently,  for  he  was  of  the  type  that  nail 
their  colors  to  the  mast. 

He  did,  however,  make  this  pronouncement:  A 
misogamist,  or  hater  of  marriage,  he  was  —  unquali- 
fiedly and  self-avowedly,  —  but  a  misogynist,  or  hater 
of  women,  —  never! 

A  distinction  with  quite  a  difference,  of 
course. 

While  hardly  a  ladies'  man,  —  for  his  penchant  was 
more  for  club-life  and  the  conviviality  of  male  com- 
panionship —  Joe  was  nevertheless  rather  popular  with 
the  fair  sex  and  enjoyed  female  society. 

He  was  an  excellent  conversationalist  and  likewise 
a  good  "kidder."  His  fund  of  stories  and  anecdotes 
seemed  inexhaustible,  and  his  own  hearty  laugh  at 
their  conclusion  was  irresistible.  The  girls  liked  his 
dry  humor  and  blunt  wit,  and  overlooked  his  lack  of 
elegance  and  gallantry,  his  perennial  black  bow-tie,  and 
square-toed  shoes.  They  rather  liked  his  twinkling 
eyes,  his  firm  jaw,  and  his  masculine,  but  rather  comely 


128  Rummyniscenees 

features.  In  short,  they  regarded  him  as  a  sort  of 
genial,  likable  cave-man. 

Peggy  O'Connell,  familiarly  known  as  "Kewpie," 
who  conducted  a  fashionable  millinery  establishment, 
under  the  name  of  Mile.  Eloise,  averred  that  he  was  "  a 
dear  old  bear." 

Phoebe  Burr,  a  private  secretary  and  bachelor  girl, 
prim  and  intellectual,  whose  apartment  "Kewpie" 
shared,  agreed  that  Joe  was  rather  attractive  though 
somewhat  uncouth. 

If  Joe  was  popular  with  the  ladies  he  was  doubly 
so  with  the  men.  He  was,  as  Bud  Barrows  once  ex- 
pressed it,  more  than  a  "fifty-fifty  guy,"  rather  a 
"seventy -five — twenty -five"  sort,  who  more  than 
held  up  his  end  and  was  liberal  to  a  fault. 

Blessed  with  an  oversized  heart,  he  loved  everything 
and  everybody,  from  measly  pups  to  glacial  grandeur, — 
likewise  his  modicum  of  liquor. 

Possibly  you  may  wonder  how  so  genial  and  warm- 
hearted an  individual  could  hold  such  narrow  views  on 
the  subject  of  matrimony.  The  fact  remains  however 
that  Joe  refused  to  consider  women  seriously.  To  him 
they  were  but  a  diversion  of  the  moment. 

III. 

But  to  return  to  the  controversy  over  the  "crucible 
of  matrimony." 


The  Misogamist  129 

"Mais,mon  ch£re!  "pro  tested  Kewpie  to  Joe,  pouting 
archly,  "I  think  you're  just  terrible!  Men  must  marry 
and  become  husbands,  or  else  who  will  buy  my 
pretty  creations  for  madame  and  her  charming 
daughters?" 

"There  you  go!  That's  the  woman  of  it!"  laughed 
the  Misog.  triumphantly.  "Marriage  to  the  average 
woman  means  little  more  than  a  meal  ticket  and  a 
charge  account.  It's  in  the  air  in  this  extravagant, 
cabaret-mad  community  of  apartment  cliff-dwellers. 

"No  real  home-life!  No  family  ideals!  Out  to 
dine,  out  to  the  theatre,  out  in  the  motor,  out  to  the 
country  club!  Out,  always  out.  Shows,  dinners* 
dances,  wine,  taxis  and  expensive  finery.  A  week's 
salary  blown  in  a  night.  Then  home  with  the  milk 
wagons  to  the  big  brick  bee-hive,  with  the  elegant, 
commodious  entrance  hall,  and  the  stuffy,  cramped 
apartments,  with  their  grasping  landlords,  autocratic 
janitors,  insolent  domestics,  distracting  phonographs, 
chattering  parrots,  yipping  lap-dogs,  and  a  veritable 
succession  of  petty  annoyances.  No  rest,  no  comfort; 
continuous  bickering  and  continuous  quarreling. 

"And  then,  the  temptations  by  which  an  up-to-date 
wife  is  beset!  The  Paris  gowns,  the  wonderful  milli- 
nery, the  luxurious  furs!  And  the  catty  references  of 
the  ladies  to  the  mythical  earnings  of  their  spouses. 


130  Rummy  niscences 

Foolish  chatter  about  the  opera,  autos,  gowns  and  a 
thousand  extravagances. 

"  And  poor  Tom,  too,  has  to  keep  up  his  end.  Opens 
up  wine  at  the  club,  gets  hooked  in  a  poker  game,  and 
comes  home  well-skished,  broke  and  in  hock  for  a 
month's  salary,  only  to  find  a  new  batch  of  bills  await- 
ing him  on  his  dresser. 

"Married  life  in  such  an  atmosphere!  Give  me  the 
care-free,  untrammelled  existence  of  the  bachelor.  It 
may  be  selfish,  but  it's  less  conducive  to  gray  hair, 
baldness  and  nervous  prostration,"  concluded  the 
Misog.,  grinning  complacently. 

"Rot!"  answered  the  Duke  tersely.  "That's  only 
one  phase  of  New  York  life.  It  depends  entirely  on  the 
individuals  themselves.  Plenty  of  real  home-life  in 
this  town!  The  people  you  cite  are  in  the  minority. 
Not  all  people  live  in  stuffy  apartments,  and  many  that 
do  are  happy  and  maintain  real  homes  in  them. " 

"Of  course,"  remarked  Phoebe,  with  an  amused 
smile,  "We  all  know  Joe's  prejudices  on  the  subject. 
Nevertheless,  there  is  much  truth  in  his  argument. 
Married  life  in  a  big  city  is  beset  with  pitfalls.  How- 
ever, Joe  seems  to  quite  overlook  the  feminine  phase 
of  the  question.  How  about  the  faithful,  patient, 
home-loving  wife,  who  sits  up  nights  alone,  while  her 
husband  debauches  and  squanders  his  income?  How 


The  Misogamist  131 

about  the  brutal,  inconsiderate  and  perfidious  hus- 
bands? Women  do  not  all  seek  or  welcome  marriage. 
Girls  who  have  mastered  paying  vocations  prefer  their 
independence;  at  least,  many  of  them  do.  Fortu- 
nately, I'm  quite  able  to  support  myself,  and,  realizing 
the  extent  of  the  gamble,  I  too,  prefer  single  blessed- 
ness." 

"That's  right!  Side  with  the  old  Misogamist, 
Phoebe,"  growled  the  Duke.  "First  thing  you  know 
we'll  dub  you  'the  Misoga  Miss.'  You're  a  fine  team, 
you  two,  and  are  only  fooling  yourselves.  When  Miss 
Right  comes  along,  Joe,  you'll  fall  just  like  the  rest, 
only  twice  as  hard. " 

"Well,"  retorted  Joe,  "Miss  Right,  if  she  exists  at 
all,  is  certainly  not  a  New  York  girl,  —  not  the  pre- 
vailing type  at  any  rate.  I've  seen  too  many  of  my 
friends  marry  and  haven't  failed  to  observe  how  seldom 
it  'takes'  in  this  town.  And  take  it  from  me,  if  ever  I 
do  fall,  it  will  be  for  some  small  town  girl  or  simple 
country  lass. 

Kewpie  laughed.  "I  think  you're  quite  funny 
Joe!  You'll  marry  allright,  and  you  won't  have  as 
much  to  say  about  it  as  you  think,  either. 

"Let  me  have  your  hand.  I  know  something  of 
palmistry.  Let's  see  what  the  lines  show.  Come  on, 
Joe,  be  a  good  sport. " 


132  Rummy  niscences 

"Well,  go  to  it!"  yielded  Joe.  "I'll  be  the  goat! 
Do  your  worst!" 

"  I  see  success,  —  success  and  a  lot  of  money. 
You'll  be  rich,  very  rich, "  proceeded  Kewpie  with  well 
mimicked  gravity,  tracing  the  lines  of  Joe's  generous 
palm  with  her  well  manicured  index  finger. 

"Thanks!"  grunted  Joe,  "I  suppose  I'll  frisk  a  bank 
or  promote  a  mine,  or  something." 

"This  line  denotes  humor,  this  smaller  one  conceit, 
and  this  one  determination.  However,  it  is  crossed  at  the 
top  by  this  linedenotingweakness,  "continued  the  seeress. 

"Marvellous!"  commented  Joe. 

"Ah!  There  is  a  woman.  A  petite  blonde." 
Kewpie  feigned  intense  interest,  then  released  Joe's 
hand  and  leaned  back  in  her  chair  smiling  grimly  and 
triumphantly. 

"Well,  shoot  it!"  commanded  Joe,  "I'm  game. 
Finish  your  act." 

"Well,  Joe,"  concluded  Kewpie,  "You're  going  to 
marry  allright.  But  not  yet,  and  not  soon  either.  Not 
for  many,  many  years.  Not  till  you  reach  the  age  of 
senility. 

"Then,  when  you  are  in  your  dotage,  you'll  marry  a 
little  doll  of  a  chorus  girl  who'll  lead  you  by  the  nose, 
wheedle  you  out  of  your  money,  and  eventually  run 
off  with  her  real  fair-haired  boy,  who'll  help  her  spend 


The  Misogamist  133 

it.  Sorry,  old  top,  but  that's  what's  in  store  for  you, 
unless  you  come  to  your  senses  and  win  yourself  a  nice 
little  wife  before  it's  too  late." 

"Ho,  Ho!     Great!"  roared  the  Duke. 

"Ho,  Ho!    Trash!"  growled  the  Misog. 

"You're  terrible,  Peggy!"  laughed  Phoebe,  "I'll 
certainly  never  let  you  read  my  palm. " 

"Well,  now  that  that's  over,"  announced  the 
Misog.,  smiling  good-naturedly,  "Let's  finish  this  red 
ink  and  call  it  a  night.  Pretty  late  for  little  girls  to  be 
out,  particularly  in  the  company  of  such  a  gay  Lothario 
as  the  Duke." 

Whereupon  they  summoned  a  taxi  and  drove  the 
girls  home,  the  Duke  and  Joe,  however,  stopping  at  the 
club  fora  "wee  doch-an-doroch "  with  the  usual  result, 
and  the  consequent  loss  of  much  sleep. 

IV. 

The  following  day  a  bright  Spring  Sunday  morning, 
Joe  lay  comfortably  sprawled  out  in  a  hammock  on  the 
verandah  of  the  suburban  home  of  his  widowed  sister, 
with  whom  he  lived,  smoking  his  calabash  and  meditat- 
ling  over  the  controversy  of  the  night  before. 

"Kewpie  is  just  a  giddy  moth,  a  perfectly  nice, 
ikable  girl,  very  pretty  and  vivacious,  and  all  that, 
but  not  reallv  intellectual  or  interesting. "  he  solilo- 


134  Rummy  niscences 

quized.  "Phoebe,  however,  is  a  really  clever  and  in- 
tellectual little  woman,  a  sensible  and  attractive  girl, 
with  lots  of  poise  and  tact.  She's  got  the  right  idea. 
Funny  how  well  she  and  Kewpie  hit  it  off  together. 
They  are  just  opposite  types. " 

His  reverie  was  interrupted  by  Bobby,  his  twelve 
year  old  nephew,  of  whom  he  was  very  fond  and  proud 
and  who  in  turn  idolized  his  Uncle  Joe. 

Bobby  was  all  fussed  up  about  the  ball  team  he  and 
his  playmates  had  just  organized  —  "  I'm  catcher  an* 
I'm  captain"  he  informed  Joe — "An'  we've  got  a 
dandy  nine,  an'  a  catcher's  mask  an'  gloves  n*  every- 
thing —  an'  Skinny  Rogers  is  pitcher  an'  can  pitch,  a 
dandy  curve,  an'  we're  going  to  play  the  Maplewood 
Avenue  nine  next  Saturday  for  a  silk  flag  that  Red 
Muller,  who's  pitcher  of  their  team,  got  his  father  to 
put  up  for  a  prize. " 

"Well,  you'll  certainly  have  to  win  that  game, 
Bobby,"  said  the  Misog.  "My  friend,  Mr.  Barlow, 
who  lives  on  Maplewood  Avenue,  will  crow  over  me  a 
lot  if  that  bunch  beats  your  outfit. " 

"Dunno!"  said  Bobby,  "They're  a  reg'lar  team." 

"What!"  said  the  Misog.  —  "You're  not  afraid  of 
them,  Bobby,  with  you  catching  and  Skinny's  dandy 
curve  —  how's  your  infield  and  your  outfield?" 

"Oh,  we've  got  a  dandy  team  all  right —  we've  got 


The  Misogamist  135 

the  best  players;  their  pitcher  can't  pitch  a  curve  like 
Skinny  can." 

"Well,  then  you  ought  to  beat  them,  oughtn't 
you?  "  queried  Joe.  "  Dunno, "  replied  Bobby  dubious- 
ly— "we've  got  a  better  team,  but  they've  got  suits— 
they're  a  reg'lar  nine. " 

"But  you  can  play  better  ball  and  have  a  better 
battery,  haven't  you —  what  have  the  suits  got  to  do 
with  it?"  argued  the  Misog. 

"Sure,  Uncle  Joe,"  answered  Bobby —  "we've  got 
better  players,but  they've  got  suits.  They're  a  real  nine. ' ' 

"You  mean  to  say  that  an  inferior  team  that's  uni- 
formed can  beat  a  better  team  that  has  no  uniforms? 
How  do  you  make  that  out?"  objected  Joe. 

"Dunno,"  sulked  Bobby,  "but  they  can." 

Joe  pondered  for  a  moment  over  this  psychological 
revelation. 

"Bobby,"  he  demanded  presently  —  "if  your  team 
had  suits,  regular  honest  to  God  baseball  suits,  could 
you  beat  the  Maple  wood  team?" 

"Sure  thing,  Uncle  Joe!"  responded  Bobby  enthu- 
siastically —  "  We'd  lick  the  life  out  o'  them  —  Skinny 's 
a  better  pitcher  than  Red;  an'  our  whole  team's  better. 
I  can  catch  better  than  Lefty  Taylor,  too,  an'  I  can 
throw  to  second,  an'  he  can't.  Sure,  we'd  lick  'em, 
if  we  ever  got  suits. " 


136  Rummyniscences 

Joe  smoked  for  a  moment  in  silence.  Science  de- 
manded that  this  psychological  phenomenon  be  veri- 
fied or  refuted.  Besides  it  was  up  to  him  to  maintain 
his  nephew's  prestige  among  his  playmates. 

"Ask  your  mother  to  let  you  ride  to  town  with 
me  tomorrow,  Bobby.  Don't  let  her  refuse  you  and 
maybe  we'll  come  back  with  suits  for  your  nine,"  he 
suggested. 

"Gee!  Uncle  Joe,  I'll  be  back  in  a  minute!  Gee! 
Reg'lar  suits,  Gee!"  and  Bobby  scurried  off,  wildly 
excited,  as  fast  as  his  legs  could  propel  him. 

And  on  the  following  Saturday  the  Laureltons  won 
the  game,  and  Joe,  who  was  among  the  onlookers, 
came  away  convinced  that  the  new  and  natty  suits  had 
contributed  more  than  any  other  factor  to  the  victory 
of  Bobby's  team. 

Every  boy  on  the  Laurelton  team  seemed  to  be 
spurred  to  play  his  very  best  by  a  desire  to  justify  the 
favorable  impression  created  by  their  appearance  as 
they  marched  onto  the  field.  Their  opponents  were 
certainly  awed  and  somewhat  disconcerted,  and  the 
umpire,  —  a  member  of  the  High  School  team  —  was 
also  palpably  impressed,  as  evidenced  by  a  leaning  in 
several  of  his  decisions,  in  favor  of  this  "  reg'lar  nine, " 
for  while  the  Maplewood  team  was  also  uniformed, 
their  togs  consisted  of  a  motley  assortment  of  varie- 


The  Misogamist  137 

gated  suits,  much  the  worse  for  wear,  most  of  them 
handed  down  by  big  brothers  who  had  discarded  them. 

Yes,  unquestionably  the  suits  had  won  the  day, 
decided  Joe,  as  he  mentally  reviewed  the  game,  and 
he  pondered  deeply  over  this  trivial  yet  convincing 
demonstration  of  the  efficacy  and  value  of  maintain- 
ing appearances,  or,  in  sporting  parlance,  of  "putting 
up  a  good  front." 

Nor  was  the  impression  made  on  him  by  this  inci- 
dent merely  a  passing  one.  He  began  to  note  that  the 
most  prosperous  and  successful  among  his  acquain- 
tances certainly  looked  the  part,  and  he  began  to  wonder 
how  much  their  outward  appearance  of  prosperity  had 
contributed  to  bring  about  the  reality. 

And  his  conclusions  were  gradually  accompanied  by 
an  astounding  metamorphosis  in  his  own  personal 
appearance  and  apparel. 

Off  came  the  square-toed  shoes,  to  be  replaced  by 
more  stylish  footgear;  the  black  bow-tie  was  discarded 
for  up-to-date  scarfs,  set  off  with  a  neat  stick-pin; 
tailored  suits  of  up-to-date  patterns  supplanted  the 
sombre  ready-made  clothes  he  had  worn  heretofore. 

And  one  Sunday  he  amazed  his  friends  by  appearing 
at  the  club  wearing  a  natty  pearl  gray  fedora,  a  carna- 
tion in  the  lapel  of  his  coat,  and  jauntily  swinging  a 
stick,  —  a  veritable  Beau  Brummel,  in  fact. 


138  Rummy  niscences 

"Pipe  the  regalia  on  the  Misog.,"  whispered  the 
Shrimp.  "Nothing  to  it!  There's  a  skirt  back  of  it 
all.  The  old  Misog.  has  been  bitten  at  last!" 

But  when,  over  their  high-balls,  at  this  session  of 
the  Sunday  morning  Bible  Class,  they  twitted  him 
about  his  transformation  and  accused  him  of  back- 
sliding from  his  misogamistic  tenets,  he  smilingly  and 
placidly  disavowed  any  such  occurrence,  without  en- 
lightening them  further,  leaving  them,  as  usual,  com- 
pletely mystified  over  his  idiosyncrasies. 

He  noted  too,  with  keen  amusement,  that  he  was 
becoming  the  recipient  of  much  attention  and  even 
deference,  all  of  which  seemed  to  justify  his  recent  and 
somewhat  belated  recognition  of  the  value  of  making  a 
good  appearance. 

V. 

It  was  shortly  after  this  that  his  conclusions  as  to 
the  result  of  that  kid  ball  game,  were  even  more  sub- 
stantially confirmed  and  justified. 

Van  Brunt,  the  president  of  his  company,  with 
'whom,  through  long  association,  he  was  on  intimate 
terms,  invited  him  to  luncheon.  He  had  grown  up 
with  the  company  and  worked  assiduously  and  faith- 
fully, acquiring  an  intimate  knowledge  of  every  depart- 
ment and  phase  of  the  business.  Officially  he  was  the 


The  Misogamist  139 

manager  of  the  Credit  Department,  but  actually  he 
was  consulted  and  identified  more  or  less  with  the  ad- 
ministration of  all  the  departments. 

"Joe,"  announced  Van  Brunt  presently,  as  they 
lunched  at  their  trade  club,  "I'm  delighted  to  inform 
you  that  at  the  annual  meeting  of  the  company  yester- 
day afternoon,  you  were  elected  not  only  as  a  director 
but  also  to  the  office  of  Vice  President  and  General 
Manager.  Congratulations,  Mr.  Vice  President;  we 
all  feel  that  the  company  is  equally  to  be  congrat- 
ulated. " 

After  Joe  had  recovered  from  his  first  surprise  and 
had  duly  expressed  his  thanks,  Van  Brunt  discussed 
with  him  some  of  the  more  pertinent  matters  that 
would  require  his  attention  and  administration.  Pres- 
ently Joe  ventured  to  inquire  as  to  what  disposal  the 
company  would  make  of  his  predecessor. 

"Oh,  Boulton,"  replied  Van  Brunt,  "why  Boulton 
has  tendered  his  resignation.  He  is  going  into  another 
line.  Wasn't  exactly  a  success,  as  you  no  doubt  are 
aware.  He  was  somewhat  of  an  experiment,  rather  a 
costly  one.  We  should  have  selected  you*  at  the  time 
we  selected  him  but  er — !" 

"But  what?"  quietly  demanded  Joe. 

"Well,  Joe,"  replied  Van  Brunt,  "at  that  time, 
while  you  were  really  far  better  qualified  than  any 


140  Rummyniscences 

other  man  in  our  organization,  you,  er —  you,  well,  the 
fact  is,  you  didn't  measure  up  to  appearances,  —  er, 
looked  kind  of  clerky,  —  you'll  pardon  me,  but  I'm 
trying  to  justify  our  failure  to  select  you  in  the  first 
place,  and,  er  — 

"I  understand  perfectly,"  answered  Joe  quietly, 
"  and  you  were  quite  right  in  eliminating  me  under 
the  circumstances." 

After  their  return  to  the  office,  Joe,  at  his  desk, 
pondered  exultingly.  "That  purchase  of  those  kids' 
ball-suits,  thanks  to  Bobby's  claims  as  to  their  potency, 
has  turned  out  to  be  the  best  little  investment  I  ever 
made,"  he  soliloquized.  "And  take  it  from  me,"  he 
added,  "henceforth  I'm  an  absolute  believer  in  the 
value  of  first  impressions  and  appearances. " 

VI. 

Van  Brunt  had  suggested,  and  in  fact  insisted  that 
Joe  take  an  extended  vacation  before  assuming  the 
arduous  duties  of  his  new  office  and  so  Joe  decided  to 
run  down  to  Atlantic  City  on  the  following  Saturday 
for  a  two  weeks'  sojourn. 

It  so  happened  that  Phoebe  had  arranged  to  sail  for 
Bermuda  on  that  same  Saturday. 

As  the  second  officer  of  the  Prince  George,  the  steam- 
ship on  which  Phoebe  had  booked  her  passage,  hap- 


The  Misogamist  141 

pened  to  be  a  close  friend  of  Joe's  whom  he  had  not 
seen  for  years,  he  proposed  to  call  for  her  in  a  taxi,  take 
her  and  her  luggage  to  the  ship  and  at  the  same  time 
surprise  his  old  friend  the  second  officer.  His  own 
plan  was  to  proceed  immediately  thereafter  to  Atlantic 
City. 

On  arriving  at  the  pier  they  clambered  up  the  gang- 
plank, and  Joe,  after  escorting  Phoebe  to  her  state- 
room, wished  her  a  pleasant  journey  and  sought  out 
Jack  Connors,  the  second  officer. 

Connors  was  overjoyed  to  see  Joe  again,  and  at  once 
led  him  to  his  cabin,  where  he  produced  a  bottle  of 
Scotch  and  a  box  of  cigars,  over  which  they  rehearsed 
their  college  escapades  and  exchanged  subsequent 
experiences,  making  generous  inroads  on  the  Scotch 
as  they  talked.  Presently  Joe,  consulting  his  watch, 
announced  that  it  was  getting  to  be  time  for  him  to 
leave. 

"Listen  Joe, "  suggested  Connors,  "why  leave  at  all. 
You're  going  on  a  vacation  anyhow.  Why  not  stay 
aboard?  I'd  be  tickled  to  death  to  have  you  make  the 
trip  and  share  my  stateroom.  A  trip  to  Bermuda  has 
it  on  Atlantic  City  a  thousand  ways.  Nothing  like  a  sea 
voyage  for  a  complete  rest.  It  wont  cost  you  a  red  cent 
for  the  trip  and  — 

"  Nothing  doing,  thank  you !     Can't  be  done.     I've 


142  Rummyniscences 

already  bought  my  tickets  for  Atlantic  City  and  made 
my  reservation  at  the  hotel, "  protested  Joe. 

"Oh,  bother  the  transportation!"  urged  Connors. 
"I  can  have  one  of  our  clerks  on  the  pier  redeem  it,  and 
a  telegram  will  cancel  your  hotel  reservation.  Your 
luggage  is  in  the  taxi  and  I  can  have  it  aboard  in  a  jiffy. 
Come  on!  You'll  enjoy  the  trip  immensely  and  be 
better  off  with  me  in  every  way,  than  you  would  at 
Atlantic  City." 

"  What'll  my  friend,  Miss  Burr,  say?"  protested  Joe, 
wavering.  "I'd  better  consult  her.  You  see  it  might 
not  look  right  — 

"Nonsense!"  laughed  Connors,  "and  besides  there 
isn't  time.  We'll  surprise  her  and  make  her  trip  all  the 
more  pleasant.  I'll  arrange  to  have  her  seated  at  my 
table,  in  place  of  that  long  faced  Baptist  minister  that 
they  wished  on  me.  Never  could  drink  comfortably 
in  the  presence  of  the  cloth!  Come  along!  Just  got 
ten  minutes  to  get  your  luggage  aboard  and  send  that 
telegram.  Say  Yes!  'Atta  boy!"  and  Connors' 
effusiveness  and  his  enthusiasm,  aided  and  abetted  by 
the  seductiveness  of  the  Scotch,  carried  the  day. 

VII. 

At  dinner,  and  well  out  to  sea,  Phoebe  got  the  sur- 
prise of  her  life  when  Joe  seated  himself  beside  her,  as 


The  Misogamist  143 

likewise  did  Joe  and  Connors,  for  Phoebe  flashed  a  look 
of  indignation  and  intense  anger  at  Joe  and  swept  from 
the  table.  Joe  followed  her  to  her  stateroom,  only  to 
be  upbraided  roundly. 

"Oh,  don't  try  to  explain,"  she  cried,  bursting  into 
tears.  "  You  don't  understand.  You're  just  an  incon- 
siderate, scatterbrained  fool  of  a  man.  Can't  you  see 
what  a  fine  lot  of  talk  and  scandal  you  have  bred? 

"  For  you  it's  merely  a  lark.  Men,  and  particularly 
bachelors  are  never  seriously  criticized.  But  for  me  it 
is  ruination.  Can't  you  see  the  folly  of  it?  You  and  I 
on  the  same  boat,  unchaperoned !  I'll  never  forgive 
you  and  I  don't  want  to  see  anything  of  you  on  this 
entire  trip,  or  ever  afterward  either.  Oh,  I'll  never  be 
able  to  face  my  friends!  Oh,  how  could  you,  Joe!" 
and  Phoebe  threw  herself  on  her  bunk  and  burst  into  a 
fresh  paroxysm  of  tears,  whereupon  Joe,  thoroughly 
disconcerted,  departed,  roundly  cursing  himself  and 
Connors.  He  sought  a  secluded  corner  of  the  upper 
deck  to  take  counsel  with  himself. 

"A  fine  'how  d'ye  do'  and  a  nice  vacation,  you 
blamed  ass!"  he  muttered.  "How'll  I  ever  square 
things  with  Phoebe?  Spoiled  her  whole  trip,  like  the 
blooming  idiot  that  I  am!" 

He  cogitated  deeply  for  a  while.  Finally  he  arose, 
gazed  intently  at  the  radiant,  sunset-streaked  horizon, 


144  Rummyniscences 

and  murmured  decisively:  "I'll  do  it!  It's  up  to  me  to 
square  this  mess  and  it's  the  only  way.  I'll  put  it  up 
to  her  anyhow,  and  if  she  can  see  it,  I'm  game,  and  by 
God,  I  hope  she  is  too!  I  believe  in  living  up  to  ap- 
pearances, and  appearances  certainly  point  that  way. " 

And  so  it  happened  that  on  the  next  day  the  Duke 
nearly  collapsed  and  the  others  stared  in  open-eyed 
wonder,  when  the  Duke  opened  and  read  aloud  the 
following  wireless  telegram :  — 

ON  BOARD  S.  S.  PRINCE  GEORGE.  GREET- 
INGS. ON  OUR  HONEY-MOON.  KINDEST  RE- 
GARDS TO  YOU  AND  THE  BUNCH.  FROM 

JOE  AND  PHOEBE. 

"And  they  both  posed  as  marriage  haters,  the  rank 
frauds!"  gasped  the  Shrimp,  "And  they  certainly 
appeared  to  be,  too!  I'll  never  take  any  stock  in  ap- 
pearances again!" 

And  yet  Joe  believed  in  them  implicitly,  and  both 
were  right,  —  so  there  you  are ! 


THE  TALE  OF  THE  PATCH 

Setting  forth  how  Buck  and  the  Shrimp  took 
their  "hang-overs"  out  for  an  airing,  and  how  Buck 
became  possessed  of  the  patch  and  his  discomfiture 
thereat. 


The  Tale  of  the  Patch. 

I. 

TICK  dug  into  his  jeans  to  pay  for  the  last  round  of 
drinks,  fished  out  a  roll  of  bills  together  with  a  rec- 
tangular, nondescript  patch  of  cloth,  gazed  at  the  latter 
a  moment  in  bewilderment,  and  then,  with  a  look  of 
disgust,  dropped  the  patch  into  a  cuspidor,  whereat 
the  Shrimp  shrieked  his  delight  and  danced  about  in 
glee,  the  while  the  bunch  gazed  inquiringly. 

All  of  which  calls  for  further  elucidation,  and  the 
recital  of  the  episode  of  Buck  and  the  patch. 

Early  in  the  day,  or  rather  late  that  morning,  Buck 
bh'nking  somewhat  resentfully  at  the  bright  sunlight, 
paused,  as  he  stepped  from  his  domicile,  to  inhale 
with  evident  relish,  lung-fulls  of  the  clear,  invigorating 
morning  air. 

The  match  which  he  lighted  on  the  stone  coping 

147 


148  Rummy  niscences 

paused  uncertainly  in  its  ascent  towards  the  cigar  which 
was  poised  somewhat  gingerly  between  Buck's  lips. 
An  obliging  and  possibly  discerning  zephyr  caused  it 
to  flicker  out.  Whereupon  Buck's  teeth  refused  to 
clip  the  end  of  the  cigar,  the  charred  match  sailed  to- 
ward the  gutter,  and  the  cigar  narrowly  escaped  the 
same  fate;  however,  on  second  thought,  it  was  returned 
to  its  original  repository  in  Buck's  vest  pocket. 
"Damn,"  commented  Buck  tersely.  Decidedly,  he 
was  feeling  a  bit  rocky. 

II. 

A  taxi  pulled  up  at  the  curb  and  out  hopped  the 
Shrimp,  spick  and  span,  as  irrepressible  and  loquacious 
as  usual. 

"  'Lo,  Buck !    Figured  you'd  just  about  be  coming 
to  life.     So  I  grabbed  this  boat  and  rolled  down.     Great 
morning!    How's  the  boy?     I'm  feeling  fine  as  silk,  — 
great!" 

"You  are,  like ,  and  neither  am  I,"  growled 

Buck.  "And  take  it  from  me,  you  pestiferous  bar-fly, 
I'm  off  all  liquor  and  strong  for  fresh  air  —  oceans  of 
it  —  and  the  simple  life  and  the  quiet  stuff,  so  — " 

"All  right!"  interrupted  the  Shrimp,  "I'm  with 
you!  Let's  hop  into  my  chariot  and  drive  wherever 
Your  Churlishness  may  command!" 


The  Tale  of  the  Patch  149 

"Well,  where  to?"  asked  the  Shrimp,  as  they  seated 
themselves  in  the  open  taxi. 

"Don't  care!"  muttered  Buck  a  little  more  amiably, 
"But  no  liquoring  up,  and  that  goes!" 

"All  right,  let's  go,"  laughed  the  Shrimp.  "Steer 
your  own  course,  chauffeur.  Let  her  roll!" 

By  the  time  they  reached  the  Concourse  and  were 
rolling  north  on  its  wide  and  breezy  expanse,  Buck  had 
quite  recuperated  from  the  previous  night's  orgy.  He 
lit  his  cigar,  and  vouchsafed  an  occasional  reply  to  the 
Shrimp's  incessant  chatter. 

"Let's  stop  at  Bronx  Park  and  look  over  the  ani- 
mals," Buck  suggested  presently. 

Time  out,  —  while  we  remind  you  that  Buck 
is  a  big  game  hunter  and  a  woodsman  of  some 
note. 

"Animals!"  laughed  the  Shrimp,  "I  saw  them  all 
last  night,  pink  elephants,  blue  crocodiles,  emerald 
snakes,  and  the  whole  blooming  menagerie!" 

"Umph"  sneered  Buck.  "Beasts,  you  mean. 
Disreputable  bipeds,  rumhounds,  bar  leeches,  human 
vipers  and  vampires,  ugh!  No  more  of  that  tribe  for 
me.  I  referred  to  the  noble  stag,  the  graceful  antelope, 

the  powerful  grizzly,  the ,  Aw!  Grin  your  fool 

head  off!  You  prosaic  product  of  the  metropolis  of 
sky-scrapers!" 


150  Rummy  niscences 

III. 

They  dismissed  the  chauffeur  at  the  gate,  and 
strolled  about  the  zoological  gardens,  until  their  peram- 
bulations brought  them  to  the  shore  of  a  pond,  where 
they  stopped  to  watch  a  cluster  of  urchins  who  were 
trying  unsuccessfully  to  hook  goldfish  with  improvised 
tackle  consisting  of  strings,  bent  pins  and  gobs  of  chew- 
ing gum  for  bait. 

Their  antics  and  shrill  comments  afforded  Buck 
much  amusement. 

"Gee,  Shrimp!"  he  laughed,  "Those  kids  get  more 
fun  out  of  nothing  than  we  could  out  of  a  hundred 
dollar  bill.  Makes  me  feel  like  a  youngster  again,  just 
to  watch  them.  Fills  me  with  vim  and  pep. " 

And  Buck  stretched  himself  to  his  full  six  foot  one, 
flexed  his  biceps,  and  inhaled  a  chestful  of  bracing 
ozone. 

"Bet  I'd  ketch  one  if  I  could  see  'em!"  vouchsafed 
one  little  optimist,  on  his  hands  and  knees,  peering  into 
the  water. 

"Well,  have  a  good  look,  Kiddo!"  laughed  Buck, 
and  reaching  down,  he  grabbed  the  youngster  by  the 
slack  of  his  loose  fitting  pants,  —  evidently  paternal 
hand-me-downs,  —  and  held  him  out  at  arm's  length 
over  the  water. 

There  followed  a  shriek  and  a  tremendous  splash, 


The  Tale  of  the  Patch  151 

and  a  violent  commotion  in  the  heretofore  placid  waters, 
as  the  frightened  youngster  wallowed  about  in  an  en- 
deavor to  gain  his  feet.  Buck  stood  stupefied,  his  arm 
still  extended,  clutching  a  patch  of  cloth  that  had  erst- 
while served  as  the  seat  of  the  affrighted  youngster's 
knickerbockers. 

The  scandalized  goldfish  scattered  in  disgust;  the 
youngster's  playmates  jumped  about  and  howled  a 
concert  of  glee  at  the  unlocked  for  spectacle;  and 
Buck  —  still  stood  petrified. 

"Y-ye  big  stiff!"  blubbered  and  sputtered  the 
youngster,  who  had  managed  to  crawl  out.  "I  didn't 
do  nothin'  to  you!  Hey  fellers,  git  a  cop,  git  a  cop! 
Look  wot  he  done  to  me  pants!  Me  mudder'll  lick  me 
good.  Ow — wow!  Git  fresh  wid  a  feller  yer  size,  ye 
big  stiff!  Ow,  I'm  soakin'  wet  an'  me  pants  is  busted! 
Git  a  cop,  fellers.  Git  a  cop!"  —  and  the  tough  little 
product  of  the  East  Side,  in  his  rage,  heaved  a  stone  at 
Buck  that  almost  found  its  mark. 

"Wow!"  gasped  Buck,  recovering  from  his  surprise. 

*'D n  the  brat!  He's  worse  than  a  screech  owl  — 

Shut  up,  you  little  fool!" 

"Slip  him  a  dollar  or  two,  Buck,"  suggested  the 
Shrimp, '  'and  tell  him  to  get  his  mother  to  buy  him  a 
new  pair." 

Buck  pulled  out  his  roll,  peeled  off  a  two  dollar  bill 


152  Rummy  niscences 

and  handed  it  to  the  militant  urchin,  whose  howls  and 
threats  instantly  subsided  as  he  grabbed  the  bill. 

Up  the  path,  leading  from  the  pond,  he  sped,  —  his 
right  hand  clutching  the  bill,  his  left  clapped  over  and 
f  utilely  endeavoring  to  conceal  that  part  of  his  anatomy 
heretofore  covered  by  the  patch,  —  while  his  play- 
mates scrambled  after  him,  emitting  a  series  of  shouts 
and  shrieks,  consisting  mainly  of  "Addy  you!  Divvy, 
divvy  up!  Bonney  on  you  Red!" 

And  Buck,  emitting  a  sigh  of  relief  and  still  clutch- 
ing the  patch,  thrust  it  absent-mindedly  into  his  pocket 
together  with  his  money,  where  it  reposed  innocently 
until,  as  we  have  already  related,  it  inopportunely  came 
to  light  again. 


APRIL  SHOWERS! 

Which  is  not  a  meteorological  discourse,  but  a 
recital  of  Dame  Fortune's  fickle  treatment  of  "The 
Revere  Sisters." 


April  Showers! 


I. 


LEVEN  o'clock !    The  kaleidoscopic  electric 

signs  seemed  to  flare  more  brilliantly.  Ubiquitous 
taxis  honked  and  scurried  hither  and  thither.  Stately 
limousines  rolled  through  the  tortuous  maze.  Chat- 
tering streams  of  humanity  poured  from  the  portals 
of  the  theatres  and  filtered  into  their  favorite  haunts 

seeking  further  diversion. For  the  Great  White 

Way  was  blooming  into  mirth  and  revelry,  —    —  and  the 
night  was  young! 

At  a  sequestered  table  in  one  of  the  flashy  restau- 
rants just  off  Broadway,  sipping  their  highballs  with 
the  ennui  characteristic  of  the  regular  frequenters  of 
the  roofs  and  cabarets,  sat  Tip  Wheeler  and  Buck 
Barrows,  languidly  observing  the  arriving  guests  as 
they  drifted  in  and  distributed  themselves  at  the  now 
rapidly-filling  tables. 

155 


156  Rummy  niscences 

The  jazz  orchestra,  which,  up  to  the  present  had 
strummed  listlessly,  now  burst  into  a  fanfare  of  riotous 
harmony.  Nimble  fingers  tore  at  banjo  and  ukelele 
strings,  leather  lungs  tortured  cornet  and  saxophone, 
and  the  arch-distractor,  the  drummer,  alternated  in 
frantic  ecstasy  between  snare  and  kettle-drums,  cym- 
bals and  triangles,  cowbells  and  a  variety  of  other 
clanking,  noisy  contrivances. 

And  then,  from  the  wings,  there  burst  forth 
onto  the  stage,  two  gyrating,  whirling  dancers,  two 
scantily-clad,  ravishing,  fluffy -haired  dolls,  who  circled 
about  the  stage  and  each  other,  with  airy  grace,  in  a 
maze  of  fantastic  convolutions  and  acrobatic  contor- 
tions. 

Conversation  lulled.  Vivacious  sirens  and  their 
faultlessly  tailored  Romeos  craned  their  necks  in  rap- 
turous admiration.  Lavishly  gowned  dowagers  stared 
haughtily  while  their  corpulent  escorts  adjusted  their 
glasses  and  peered  at  the  performers  in  discreetly  silent 
approval.  The  act  terminated  amid  thunderous  ap- 
plause. 

"Peaches!  Some  little  kickers!  Wonder  if  we 
couldn't  meet  them !  The  little  blonde  smiled  right  at 
me,"  raved  a  sallow  fashion-plate  of  the  lounge-lizard 
variety. 

"I'll  stake  the  head-waiter  to  slip  them  a  note  if 


April  Showers!  157 

you're  game.     They  sure  are  two  swell  Janes!"  rejoined 
his  equally  enthusiastic  companion. 

Tip  glared  at  them  contemptuously. 

"Snappy  act,"  commented  Buck  tersely. 

He  picked  up  the  menu,  ran  his  finger  down  the 
program  printed  on  its  reverse  side  and  for  Tip's  edifi- 
cation announced  — 

"THE  REVERE  SISTERS" 
Terpsichorean  Sylphs. 

"Uh,  huh!"  drawled  Tip,  "Know  all  about  'em! 
Friends  of  mine.  That's  why  I  steered  you  here. 
We're  going  to  meet  them  and  take  them  for  a  little 
ride.  So  drink  up!  They'll  be  ready  and  waiting  for 
us  in  a  few  minutes.  What  d'ye  say?" 

"Ah!"  rejoined  Buck,  "I  surmised  that  you'd  dig 
up  a  couple  of  skirts  when  you  hired  that  limousine. 
So  that's  why  you're  spreading  yourself.  Well,  they 
look  good  to  me!  What's  the  program?" 

"Nothing  but  a  nice  little  ride  and  a  few  drinks  and 
dances  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,"  answered  Tip.  "A 
late  supper  at  one  of  the  road-houses  and  then  we'll 
shoot  them  home  again.  Perfectly  nice,  lovable  girls 
mind  you!  So  don't  make  any  cracks !" 

"Don't  quite  get  you!"  replied  Buck  skeptically. 

"Well,  you  will,  after  you  meet  them  and  know 
them,"  proceeded  Tip.  "This,  by  way  of  diversion, 


158  Rummyniscences 

is  going  to  be  a  respectable  little  party.  You  con- 
fided to  me  at  the  club,  that  you  were  tired  of  lapping 
up  liquor;  weary  of  sitting  around  and  listening  to 
ribald  stories  and  witticisms;  surfeited  with  all  its 
sameness,  cheap  glamor  and  shallowness.  You  felt 
guilty  about  it.  Remarked  that  the  time  and  money 
thus  wasted  could  be  put  to  better  use,  —  making 
others  happy  who  might  need  a  little  cheer  and  comfort. 
I  felt  the  same  way.  So  after  dinner  I  phoned  and 
arranged  this  little  party.  That's  why  you  and  I  are 
going  to  play  the  Good  Samaritans  for  a  one-night 
stand  —  at  any  rate.  Well,  I  guess  the  girls  are  ready 
and  waiting  for  us.  Come  along!" 

II. 

So  they  checked  out.  That  is  to  say,  they  surren- 
dered their  hat-checks  and  likewise  "two  bits"  each  to 
the  alluring  coat-room  girls  who  had  relieved  them  of 
their  straw-hats  on  their  entrance  into  the  gilded  maws 
of  this  rapacious  establishment.  Having  redeemed 
their  headgear  they  were  passed  on  to  the  gaudily- 
liveried  door-man,  who  with  unctuous  servility  ushered 
them  into  their  car  and  then  as  soon  as  his  yearning 
palm  closed  on  his  duly  forthcoming  but  "unearned 
increment,"  promptly  switched  his  fawning  smile  to 
his  next  prospective  victims. 


April  Showers!  159 

Tip  directed  the  chauffeur  to  stop  just  around  the 
corner. 

"There  they  are,"  he  remarked,  hopping  out. 

He  entered  a  Subway  kiosk  and  held  a  brief  conver- 
sation with  two  shadowy  figures,  vaguely  discernible 
through  the  translucent  glass  sides.  Presently  they 
emerged  and  were  ushered  into  the  limousine. 

Buck  figuratively  rubbed  his  eyes  and  pinched  him- 
self. In  the  dim  light  shed  by  the  sparsely  illuminated 
Subway  entrance,  he  discerned  two  slender  girls, 
modestly  attired  in  plain  dark  serge  dresses,  topped 
with  tawdry  neck-pieces  of  "cat  pelt"  ermine,  their 
hair  severely  gathered  under  simple  little  toque  hats. 

"The  Revere  sisters!"  gasped  Buck  inaudibly, 
"Impossible!"  Tip  was  stringing  him! 

Introductions  followed.  "Buck,"  announced  Tip, 
"  I'd  like  you  to  meet  my  very  good  friends,  Mrs.  White 
and  Miss  White  —  her  daughter.  Ladies,  permit  me 
to  make  you  acquainted  with  my  old  side-kick  Mr. 
Barrows,  —  Buck  for  short.  Flo  and  Winnie  are 
'good  fellows,'  Buck.  So  let's  cut  the  frills  right  at 
the  start.  Flo  and  Winnie,  Buck  and  Tip  —  no  social 
prefixes.  And  now,  I  guess,  we're  all  set!" 

"Oh  Tipsy,  old  dear!"  laughed  Flo  melodiously. 
"You  are  so  delightfully  informal.  Tip  always  makes 
one  feel  so  at  ease,  Mr.  —  er  —  Buck!"  she  amended 


160  Rummy  niscences 

as  Tip  shook  his  finger  at  her  with  an  admonishing 
srnile. 

Buck  glanced  at  little  Winnie.  She  was  gazing  at 
Tip  with  a  look  of  positive  worship.  "  Oh  yes, "  draw- 
led Buck,  "Tip's  a  good  sort  and  a  good  pal.  Not 
quite  one  hundred  percent  of  course  but  sort  of  a  demi- 
God  I'll  admit,  particularly 

"  Cut  that  stuff  and  let's  talk  sense, "  interposed  Tip. 
"Now  Flo,  tell  me  how  you've  been.  How's  the  world 
using  you?  How  are  things  going?  Stage-door  John- 
nies pestering  you  as  much  as  usual?  Never  mind  old 
Buck!  He's  a  good  listener  and  never  talks  much 
unless  he's  liquored  up.  He'll  be  talking  your  ears  off 
after  we  make  a  few  stops.  Don't  mind  old  Buck,  he's 
a  brick. " 

Gradually,  as  they  reclined  comfortably  in  the 
luxuriously  cushioned  seats  of  the  limousine,  Tip  drew 
out  of  Flo  a  recital  of  her  trials  and  tribulations.  Buck, 
who  sat  facing  them,  regarded  them  quizzically  and 
listened  in  silent  sympathy  while  demure  little  Winnie 
nestled  contentedly  in  the  encircling  arm  of  her  self- 
styled  and  to  her,  wonderful  "big  brother." 

Things  were  not  going  well  with  the  Revere  Sisters. 
Flo  unfolded  a  rather  pitiful  tale  —  a  tale  of  the  heart- 
lessness  and  greed  of  brutal  managers  and  grasping 
booking  agents,  and  of  the  wiles  and  snares  that  en- 


April  Showers!  161 

compassed  them.  Their  act  was  on  the  wane.  Al- 
ready they  were  performing  in  mediocre  establishments. 
Soon  they  would  have  to  "show"  in  third-rate  houses 
at  half  their  present  salary.  And  after  that  —  what? 
Cheap  vaudeville  and  coarse  burlesque,  road  compa- 
nies, small  towns,  and  a  gypsy  life,  with  all  its  hard- 
ships and  precariousness.  This  they  faced,  —  unless 
they  could  devise  and  stage  a  new  and  novel  act.  That, 
however,  meant  an  expensive  outlay  for  new  costumes 
and  stage  trappings,  and  hours  upon  hours  of  weary 
rehearsal  that  they  could  not  afford  to  devote  the  time 
to,  for  they  just  had  to  keep  going  in  order  to  live  and 
make  both  ends  meet. 

And  then  too,  there  was  the  monthly  sum  that  Flo 
sent  her  destitute  mother  in  England.  Moreover,  there 
was  her  shiftless,  drunken  husband,  whom  Flo  had  for- 
saken many  years  ago,  taking  Winnie  with  her  and 
whose  persistent  mulcting  still  further  depleted  their 
scant  income.  In  addition  to  their  financial  troubles 
it  transpired  that  they  were  frequently  subjected  to 
indignities  by  designing  and  often  coarse  admirers,  — 
acquaintances  forced  on  them  by  servile  managers  or 
obsequious  proprietors  who  were  importuned  for  intro- 
ductions, and  who  could  not  be  offended. 

Buck  sat  and  listened  in  silent  indignation.  He 
studied  Flo  and  Winnie  sympathetically.  His  thoughts 


162  Rummyniscences 

reverted  to  the  scene  he  had  witnessed  at  the  cabaret 
only  an  hour  ago.  The  dashing,  scintillating,  winsome 
Revere  sisters!  Whirling  and  gyrating,  happy  mad- 
cap dancers!  There  they  sat.  A  lovable,  simply 
attired  pretty  mother  and  her  charming  modest  daugh- 
ter. Winnie,  eighteen,  and  Flo  —  well,  perhaps  close 
to  forty,  —  mother  and  daughter,  gambolling  through 
a  sister  act,  maintaining  a  pathetic  farce  on  and  off  the 
stage,  exposed  to  all  the  wiles  and  indignities  that  beset 
the  cabaret-performer's  existence. 

Mother  and  daughter!  Revelling  between  and  after 
performances  with  favored  guests,  subjected  to  ad- 
vances, liberties,  —  insults.  Eager  to  doff  their  won- 
derful stage  raiment  for  their  modest  street  clothes,  to 
return  weary  and  disheartened  to  their  shabby  lodg- 
ings. 

"But  it  will  all  come  out  all  right,  some  day  and 
some  how!"  concluded  Flo,  smiling  gamely  through  her 
glistening  tears.  "Just  a  little  April  shower,  that  will 
soon  be  dissipated  by  the  glorious  sun!  I'm  not  losing 
my  grip,  and  Winnie  is  a  dear  and  such  a  comfort. 
Doesn't  care  for  finery  and  luxuries  and  does  all  the  real 
housekeeping,  while  I  fuss  around  or  rest  up. "  —  And 
Flo  beamed  on  Winnie  with  maternal  affection  and 
pride. 

"But  I've  been  terribly  selfish  and  disagreeable, 


April  Showers!  163 

Tipsy,"  continued  Flo,  "unburdening  my  troubles  on 
you  and  —  Buck!  After  all,  this  is  a  good  old  world, 
and  tonight  I'm  perfectly  happy.  Winnie  and  I  are 
always  happy  when  Tip  takes  us  out, "  she  confided  to 
Buck.  "He's  our  Prince  Charming,  and  the  only 
real  friend — " 

"Bosh!"  interrupted  Tip,  "I'd  much  rather  be  out 
with  my  two  little  sisters  and  old  Buck  than  with  the 
rum-hounds  I  generally  trail  with.  We're  getting  close 
to  the  Pell  Tree  Inn.  Let's  stop  there  and  look  'em 
over.  Buck's  dying  for  a  little  liquor,  I  know.  How 
about  you,  old  top?  Time  for  a  little  smile,  wot?  And 
a  couple  of  fox- trots  with  the  girls!  What  d'ye  say?'' 

"  Well, "  drawled  Buck,  "  I  might  be  seduced !  I'm 
agreeable!" 

"Seduced!  —  Agreeable!"  laughed  Tip,  "why  you 
old  toper,  your  tongue's  hanging  out,  and  I'm  spitting 
cotton  myself !  A  couple  of  nice,  cool  gin-daisies  ought 
to  hit  us  about  right,  eh!" 

"Fine!"  assented  Buck  enthusiastically.  "Occa- 
sionally your  old  think-tank  still  emits  flashes  of  bril- 
liancy. " 

The  Pell  Tree  Inn,  at  which  they  presently  pulled 
up,  was  at  its  zenith  of  mirth  and  revelry.  Tip  was 
in  his  element  and  the  life  of  the  party.  A  newspaper 
"column"  editor,  he  fairly  bristled  with  humorous 


164  Rummy  niscences 

sallies  and  repartee.  Buck  too,  as  Tip  had  predicted, 
relaxed  after  imbibing  his  second  "daisy."  Flo,  her 
troubles  forgotten,  was  radiant,  and  convulsed  them 
with  the  recital  of  the  ridiculous  advances  of  an  eccen- 
tric and  much-infatuated  old  fellow-lodger  in  their 
rooming-house.  Demure  little  Winnie  blossomed  into 
a  vivacious  and  positively  bewitching  enchantress. 
Their  table  resounded  with  laughter  and  merriment. 

Buck  was  now  thoroughly  adopted  into  the  tribe. 
He  fox-trotted  and  one-stepped  with  Flo  and  Winnie 
alternately,  and  vied  with  Tip  in  his  endeavors  to 
provide  pleasure  and  happiness  for  the  "Revere  Sis- 
ters." 

Eventually  they  wound  up  at  the  Hunter's  Island 
Inn.  Here  they  regaled  the  girls  with  broiled  lobsters 
and  crisp  celery  preceeded  by  hors  d'oeuvres  in  the 
form  of  delectable,  dainty  little  caviare  sandwiches, 
all  of  which  they  washed  down  with  rare  old  Scotch  ale. 

Over  their  demi-tasses  they  were  content  to  quietly 
survey  their  fellow-guests  who  at  this  late  hour  still 
feasted,  drank  and  danced  away  the  cares  and  worries 
of  yesterday  and  of  the  morrow. 

Presently  Nature  asserted  herself.  Flo,  stifling  a 
yawn,  called  attention  to  the  late  hour  and  suggested 
that  they  call  it  a  night.  Tired,  but  contented  and 
happy,  they  rolled  back  to  the  city. 


April  Showers!  165 

"Tip,  old  Scout,  you're  an  ace!"  vouchsafed  Buck, 
after  they  had  safely  seen  the  Revere  sisters  home. 
"I  enjoyed  our  little  party  immensely.  Can't  we 

repeat  it?  Flo  and  Winnie  are  just  —  well, most 

lovable.  It  did  my  heart  good  to  see  them  happy  and 
forgetting  their  troubles.  Why  can't  I  give  them  a 
little  party  next  week?" 

"You  can,  old  top!  I'm  sure  they'd  be  delighted!" 
rejoined  Tip  linking  his  arm  into  Buck's  affectionately. 

III. 

From  that  night  on,  it  became  a  pleasant  duty  with 
them  to  bring  cheer  to  the  Revere  Sisters  at  frequent 
intervals. 

But  things  went  badly  with  their  proteges  notwith- 
standing. 

On  one  of  their  visits  they  found  Flo  disconsolate 
and  in  tears.  Pressed  for  an  explanation,  she  shook 
her  head  and  remained  silent.  Presently  gathering 
herself,  she  forced  a  game  little  smile  and  dismissed 
the  subject.. 

"  Only  another  little  April  shower ! "  she  sighed, "  and 
now,  let's  be  happy,  for  when  you  two  old  dears  call, 
the  skies  always  clear  and  the  clouds  roll  away.  Don't 
they,  Winnie?"  and  she  smiled  at  them  bravely,  while 
Winnie  nodded  her  assent. 


166  Rummy  nscences 

Flo's  occasional  fits  of  despondency  worried  her 
two  staunch  friends.  Their  proffer  of  financial  assist- 
ance, she  had  gratefully  but  firmly  refused,  with  a 
finality  that  brooked  no  repetition,  and  there  remained 
nothing  for  them  to  offer  but  entertainment  and  cheer- 
ing distraction. 

On  the  occasion  of  a  subsequent  visit,  however,  Flo 
was  radiant. 

"Just  think,  Tip!  You'll  hardly  believe  it,  Buck!" 
she  exulted,  "Winnie  is  to  be  featured  in  a  big  Broad- 
way production.  We're  made!  We're  to  break  up 
our  act  after  we  finish  our  bookings.  I'm  through  with 
the  stage,  except  that  I'll  of  course  accompany  Winnie 
and  look  after  her  and  her  wardrobe. " 

And  then  she  related  how  they  had  become  ac- 
quainted with  a  big  producer,  who,  after  seeing  their 
act,  had  introduced  himself,  and  had  ever  since  been 
paying  marked  attention  to  Winnie. 

"He  is  working  on  a  big  musical  comedy,  to  be 
produced  in  the  fall,"  continued  Flo.  "It's  to  be  a 
hummer,  —  a  big  hit.  Winnie  is  to  be  starred  in  a 
sylvan  dance  act,  as  Diana  the  Goddess  of  the  Chase, 
supported  by  six  other  girls.  Isn't  it  wonderful?"  she 
concluded. 

Tip  and  Buck  were  equally  delighted.  They  heart- 
ily congratulated  the  future  star  and  her  proud  and 


April  Showers!  167 

happy  mother.     All  four  made  merry  and  celebrated 
until  well  into  the  morning. 

Shortly  thereafter,  Tip  was  offered  and  accepted  a 
lucrative  assignment  on  a  San  Francisco  newspaper  and 
left  for  the  coast.  Buck  too  was  called  away  on  an 
extended  business  tour  that  entailed  calls  on  practi- 
cally all  of  the  branch-offices  and  sales-agencies  of  his 
company.  They  both  completely  lost  track  of  the 
Revere  Sisters. 

IV. 

A  year  later,  Buck,  marooned  for  the  night  in  a 
small  Middle- West  town,  drifted  to  the  unpretentious 
Opera  House,  —  the  only  diversion  the  town  afforded. 

As  he  sat  in  his  fifty  cent  orchestra  seat,  between  a 
coal  miner  and  steel  puddler,  and  gazed  about  him  at 
the  tawdry  audience,  —  men  in  black  sateen  shirts 
and  celluloid  collars,  and  women  garbed  in  cheap  print- 
cloth  dresses,  their  hair  covered  with  gaudy  silk  hand- 
kerchiefs, —  he  could  not  but  contrast  this  motley 
assemblage  with  the  fashionable  audiences  that  patron- 
ized the  elegant  theatres  of  the  metropolis. 

"  The  whole  blamed  house  don't  represent  over  four 
or  five  hundred  dollars,"  he  muttered. 

Presently  the  orchestra,  —  a  piano,  violin,  cornet 
and  drummer,  —  perpetrated  the  overture,  and  the 


168  Rummyniscences 

well-worn  curtain  rose  on  a  cheap,  coarse  burlesque 
show  of  the  stereotyped  variety. 

Buck  watched  the  show  listlessly.  His  predominat- 
ing feeling  was  one  of  disgust,  incited  in  particular 
by  the  low  comedian  and  "star"  performer,  whose 
coarse  witticisms  and  crude  antics  elicited  loud  guffaws 
and  applause  from  his  equally  low-cast  audience. 

And  then,  hand  in  hand,  with  the  cheaply  and  flash- 
ily-attired dandy  of  the  show,  there  minced  onto  the 
stage  the  smirking,  powdered  and  painted  heroine  and 
"Queen  of  the  Burlesque." 

Buck  straightened  up,  craned  forward  and  rubbed 
his  eyes  in  unbelief. 

"Winnie!  Winnie  White!  Beyond  the  shadow 
of  a  doubt!"  he  gasped  as  he  sank  back  in  his  seat. 

He  sat  through  the  show  in  a  daze.  Conflicting 
emotions  surged  through  his  brain.  Towards  the  close 
of  the  last  act,  he  summoned  an  usher  and  slipping  him 
a  dollar  bill  and  a  note  hastily  scrawled  on  one  of  his 
cards,  he  instructed  him  to  deliver  it  to  Miss  Vivian 
Le  Claire,  the  name  under  which  Winnie  was  billed  on 
the  program. 

A  little  later,  seated  with  Winnie  among  the  poly- 
glot patrons  of  the  smelly  and  greasy  restaurant  that 
adjoined  the  Opera  House,  he  contemplated  her  in 
silence,  while  Winnie  chatted  volubly  and  almost  fever- 


April  Showers!  169 

ishly,  monopolizing  the  conversation  in  a  quite  trans- 
parent endeavor  to  ward  off  interrogation  on  his  part. 

"Only  a  year,  —  and  what  a  change!"  soliloquized 
Buck.  "  Demure,  modest,  quiet  little  Winnie,  chatter- 
ing insistently,  —  quite  boldly  and  even  brazenly," 
he  thought.  Her  voice  had  harshened,  and  her  eyes,  — 
well,  certainly  they  were  no  longer  demure.  The  firm 
expression  of  her  mouth,  the  new  lines  that  had  crept 
into  her  features,  and  her  entire  demeanor  and  bearing, 
yes,  she  had  changed,  —  and  somehow  Buck  experi- 
enced a  feeling  of  mingled  disappointment,  pity  and 
resentment.  Her  plumed  turban,  her  bobbed  hair, 
her  very  attire,  all  appeared  to  Buck  to  be  in  keeping 
with  her  cheap  theatrical  life  and  tawdry  affiliation-. 

"Winnie!"  he  present!^  blurted  out,  "Are  you 
really  quite  happy  and  contented?" 

"Why  —  er,  yes,  —  of  course!....!  have  to  be!" 
she  answered  with  a  touch  of  her  old  naivete,  wincing 
under  the  directness  and  bluntness  of  his  question. 

Buck  was  not  deceived  by  her  assumed  cheerfulness 
and  her  pluck.  However,  he  considerately  shifted  the 
subject.  "And  Flo,"  he  inquired,  "how  is  she,  and 
what  has  become  of  her?" 

"Oh,  Flo!"  replied  Winnie,  "why  mother  is  O.  K. 
We  broke  up  our  act  as  you  know.  Things  didn't  pan 
out,  and  she  was  terribly  disappointed.  She  got  sore 


170  Rummyniscences 

on  our  act  and  the  stage  in  general  and  the  whole  bloom- 
ing business.  Even  before  we  quit  she  was  all  played 
out  and  had  to  stall  through  our  act.  Stiff  in  the  joints 
and  all  that!  Mother's  no  chicken  you  know,  and  it 
was  tough  work,  even  for  me!"  vouchsafed  Winnie. 

"  What  is  she  doing?  Where  is  she?  "  persisted  Buck. 

"  Well,  she's she's  a  waitress  in  a  Child's  Res- 
taurant in  New  York"  replied  Winnie  reluctantly. 
"But  she  likes  it  and  is  doing  fine,"  she  added  hastily. 
"Much  easier  work,  and  with  the  tips  she  gets  she's 
making  out  pretty  good.  She  stands  fine  with  the 
manager,  too.  He  says  she's  the  best  and  speediest 
waitress  he's  got.  Pretty  light  on  her  feet  —  for  a  wait- 
ress!" added  Winnie  smiling  pathetically.  "I  get  a 
letter  from  her  every  week.  She's  all  right! " 

"  And  the  big  producer  who  was  to  star  you,  Winnie, 
-what  of  him?"  queried  Buck.  "Didn't  his  show 
materialize  or  pan  out?" 

"Oh,  he's  around,"  replied  Winnie  evasively. 
"Buck,  do  you  remember  that  funny  old  fellow  in  our 
boarding-house,  that  always  tagged  after  mother,  well 
he—" 

"But  what  about  the  big  producer,  Winnie?" 
insisted  Buck.  "He  was  paying  all  kinds  of  attention 
to  you.  What  became  of  him?  Didn't  he  —  ?" 

"I  married  him!"  interrupted  Winnie  desperately. 


April  Showers!  171 

Buck  gazed  at  her  in  astonishment.  "What's  the 
rest  of  the  story?  Come,  tell  your  old  friend  all  about 
it.  Did  the  hound  desert  you?  Or  did  you  leave 
him?" 

"Not  yet!"  replied  Winnie  shrugging  her  shoulders 
callously.  "We're  living  together,  after  a  fashion. 
You  saw  him  tonight  in  the  show.  The  comedian!" 
she  concluded,  lowering  her  eyes  and  toying  with  her 
spoon. 

"What,  that  low  brow!"  gasped  Buck  involuntarily, 
staring  at  Winnie  in  amazement  and  disbelief. 

"Yes,"  sighed  Winnie  resignedly.  "But  he  looked 
different  somehow  when  we  first  met.  Seemed  like  a 
fine  gentleman  and  talked  so  convincingly  of  his  big 
show  and  all  his  wonderful  plans.  Well,  the  longer 
we  live  the  more  we  learn!  Not  that  Joe's  such  a  bad 
sort"  she  continued,  "he  treats  me  all  right,  —  as  well 
as  he  can,  —  when  he's  sober!" 

Poor  Winnie!  Buck's  heart  went  out  to  her  in 
warmest  sympathy. 

"And  the  big  production — what  became  of  it?" 
he  presently  inquired  again. 

"That  was  it —  the  show  you  saw  tonight!"  replied 
Winnie  drearily,  —  you  see  Joe  is  a  bit  optimistic  and 
talks  pretty  big! — Some  show  Buck,  isn't  it?"  she 
concluded  with  a  trace  of  her  old  archness. 


172  Rummy  niscences 

"Damn  it  all!"  ejaculated  Buck,  "you  positively 
can't  go  on  like  this,  Winnie !  How  long  are  you  going 
to  keep  up  this  —  this  farce?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  rejoined  Winnie  listlessly, 
"you  see  I'm  hooked!  Some  day,  when  Joe's  beastly 
drunk  and  brutal,  —  I'll  run  away  —  back  to  Flo  — 
to  mother !  You  see  it's  in  our  blood !  Flo  ran  away 
from  my  father  —  you  know!  Don't  you  think  I'd 
make  a  pretty  Child's  waitress?  Maybe  as  good  as 
Flo!"  She  laughed  bravely  in  simulated  gaiety. 

Buck  did  not  respond.  He  could  sense  no  humor  in 
the  situation.  For  some  time  he  pondered  silently. 
"Winnie,  there  must  be  some  way  out  of  this  mess!" 
he  asserted,  "non-support,  incompatibility,  brutality,— 
or  something!  In  the  meantime,  can  I  help  you  in 
any  way?  Do  —  do  you  need  money?" 

"No,  Buck!    You're  a  dear,  but  you  can't  do  a 

thing.     I'm  all  right.     But  you  might  look  up  Flo  and 

—  and  take  her  out  —  for  —  old  time's  sake!"     And 

with    that    Winnie  broke  down  and  sobbed  convul" 

sively. 

"Don't  Winnie!  Don't  —  Brace  up!  Everything 
will  come  out  all  right!"  comforted  Buck. 

"Yes !"  smiled  Winnie,  drying  her  tears,  "per- 
haps! Don't  mind  me.  Buck.  As  Flo  would  say  — 


April  Showers!  173 

only  a  little  April  shower!     The  clouds  will  soon  roll 
away!       I'm    all    right.     And    now — let's    go!" 

Shortly  after  Buck's  return  to  New  York  he  wrote 
Winnie  a  cheering  letter.  It  came  back  unopened 
and  marked  "Not  Found." 

V. 

The  months  rolled  by,  —  the  gorgeous  autumn,  the 
dreary  winter  and  the  gladsome  Spring.  It  was 
summer  —  —  a  balmy  night  in  June. 

Buck,  seated  in  a  taxi,  all  spruced  up  and  immacu- 
late, lolled  back  in  blissful  revery  —  rapturously  in 
love!  And  tonight  he  was  on  his  way  to  take  the 
plunge,  —  to  propose. 

As  he  rolled  towards  her  home,  dreaming,  planning, 
and  fondling  the  little  plush  case  that  contained  the 
ring,  he  was  roused  from  his  meditations  by  the  stop- 
ping of  his  taxi  —  stalled  for  a  moment  in  the  Broad- 
way traffic  jam. 

The  strains  of  a  familiar  hymn,  the  blare  of  a  cornet 
and  a  trombone,  and  a  thumping  bass-drum,  vied  with 
the  traffic  noises.  A  Salvation  Army  group,  right 
alongside  of  his  stalled  taxi,  was  fervently  engaged  in 
its  nightly  effort  to  arouse  religious  ardor  and  to  gather 
converts. 

Buck,  impatient  and  annoyed,  peered  out  through 
the  open  taxi  window.  His  gaze  swept  from  the  melan- 


174  Rummy  niscences ! 

choly  brother  who  soulfully  thumped  the  big  bass-drum 
to  the  equally  doleful  eornetist,  and  to  the  two  ragged 
converts,  kneeling  in  the  gutter — saved!  Suddenly 
he  gasped  in  astonishment,  his  eyes  riveted  in  an  in- 
credulous stare ! 

Sister  Florence  and  Sister  Winifred,  their  arms 
encircling  each  other's  waists,  jangled  their  tambour- 
ines, and  sang  with  rapturous  fervor,  their  countenances 
under  their  quaint  Salvation  Army  bonnets,  suffused 
with  beatific  smiles  of  peace  and  contentment. 

His  taxi  disentangled  itself  and  lurched  ahead. 

"Hell's  Bells  and  Jumping  Jupiter!"  ejaculated 
Buck,  "Some  knock-out!  Life  sure  is  a  queer  riddle! 
Anyhow  they  certainly  looked  happy  and  contented. 
Perhaps  the  April  showers  and  sombre  clouds  have 
really  passed  for  good  at  last!" 


A     000  121  039     2 


